Dark clouds heavy with rain, soggy patches on the lawn, and trees tossed by strong winds. That’s the view from my window this morning. I know others across Britain are contemplating (or travelling in) flood waters or snow.
I also watch where moss has been dug aggressively by crows searching for insects. Glimpses of pink buds swelling steadily on the tips of branches, and long red stalks shooting on the rose bush just outside my door. I am intrigued by these signs of energy, pushing towards spring regardless of the gloom and cold.
What do the trees know that I don’t? What gives the crows and the rose bushes the strength and vigour to keep going? What gives them the courage and the hope which I lack today? The crows, the trees, the rose bushes and me. We are all together, here, under the clouds. But they seem to know something I have forgotten.