THE TURNING OF THE WHEEL

 So we end the year with frost, good for breaking up the clods of earth.

The rose bed is tidied and manured, albeit belatedly. I call it the rose bed but really it is a bed with some roses in.

On the morning of the 31st there has been a light dusting of snow overnight but by mid morning there is soft misty rain falling though the temperature is only just above freezing. And it is very still, the garden holding its breath, all sensible creatures snuggled somewhere warm. I will go and light the wood burner and make a cup of coffee. Yesterday I came down with a cold but, I hope, not the Covid.

We have been round the year and are back to the beginning, a year to forget - but we cannot.

The new year begins with another sunrise over the bay, a hard frost and black ice outside the back door. The salt and grit are down by the gate a hundred yards away. I get out the spade and tweak my back. Welcome to another turn of the wheel.

Daffodils are pushing through in the garden, the paperwhites I and A gave us are in full flower and pumping out scent.

There is other hope, buds on the skimmia, flourishing parsley and even the horseradish is sprouting.

The trees are stark especially the old ash, ivy clad against a blue sky. I wonder if the dieback will get it this year. Should I cut back the ivy which might be a burden on it but then there is so much life in the tangled shoots, bird nests etc - I do not know so do nothing.

Afternoon light filters through the white birches at the far end of the garden and I debate as to whether a further lifting of the canopy would be a good idea. Again I do nothing, yet.

We have a spattering of snow settling on roofs and paths.

The plastic heron that is now a great white egret, down by the pond, is no deterrent to the real thing.

So not a lot of gardening to be done but cutting back and manuring, earth too hard and anyway it is cold!

We walk up the back field - it is safer than on hard icy surfaces though boots and wellies go through the frozen crust where it is wet. 

Looking back the sun is starting to go down behind our small copse, silhouetting the branches and twigs. 

The 2020 wheel has turned, now for the 2021 wheel and pray we do not get a puncture.