The Son, who is nothing if not consistent, gets up every single morning for an unvarying routine of cereal and a copy of Asterix or TinTin. For the past month, he has added to his early repertoire the question, “Why is it so dark?”
There is no mistake: we are in the bleak midwinter.
Today was exceptionally dark, due to the clouds that covered what little rays of sun were peeping over our eastern field. But it’s not all gloomy.
The hedgerows are valiantly holding onto the last colour of the season. The tips of this past year’s hazel shoots are spangled with golden leaves which glow in the morning mist. In the late afternoon, before the sun dips below the horizon, these wavy gold-tipped branches – swaying above the denuded ash, blackthorn, may, and rowan – are beautiful, and unexpected.