Temperatures rise, the sun shines, snowdrifts disappear, things start to pop up in the garden, and one thinks (hopefully) that spring has arrived in the north, but wait...
After several days of relatively balmy weather, we pulled the draperies open yesterday morning to leaden skies and falling snow. The tulips and daffodils sprouting in the garden were poking up through white stuff and doing their best, but they did not look happy.
After twittering their displeasure and grabbing a few sunflower seeds from the feeders, the usual morning visitors retreated to the depths of the cedar hedge and hunkered down there, looking miserable. We (Beau and I) were of like mind.
What to do? We wrapped up warmly anyway and went for a long walk around the village, clad in parkas and with our collars turned up against the squall. The weather was only a few degrees below freezing, but it was damp, and the north wind was bitterly cold. Then we came home to tea and buttered waffles.
It was a fine afternoon for huddling in a corner with a mug of something hot and Anthony Horowitz's marvelous Moonflower Murders. The novel starts off on the island of Crete, and moves to England after a chapter or so, but in neither place is there snow, as far as I know. A sunny Greek terrace overlooking the Aegean Sea is perfect for such a dreary day. Mezze anyone? Moussaka? A few glasses of ouzo or retsina?
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