Last weeks' dawns were delayed by clouds whose soft patterings filled the semi-conscious interludes of night. Thursday's dawn brought calm, after a stormy night and finally, on Friday, the promise of earlier mornings was met by an almost clear, pale blue. What small clouds there were scudded Northwards along the Eastern horizon. Shadowed, they were more like a wolf pack than a sheep.
It is to the skies that my spring hopes have been focused; waiting on the bright herald of sun to draw me from bed early enough, instead of the dull alarm call and fumble for light switches that mark winter. Yesterday morning though, after the birds had sung to me around half after six and I'd managed to beat the alarm down to the kitchen, I saw snowdrops on the way to work; the first flowers to greet the year and signal a return of hope to ground level, to the garden, the Forest and the sea.
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