I understand what old Hieronymous was on about now

You have to love February in England.  You have to love it because it’s short.

That’s the only thing it’s got going for it other than it’s the month when Lashes was born.

I would have included Valentine’s day in February’s charms but since Valentine’s Day stopped being of any relevance at all to me  many years ago I refuse to include it. So, that’s it then, February actually, now that I come to think about it, has two things going for it; Lashes’ birthday and it’s a short month.

Trudging through the woods this morning with Velcrodog it struck me  how very grey and gloomy and depressing everything was. All I could see around me was various shades of grey. Even the dog was covered in mud and as grey as a February day. Sigh.

Not even the pathetic attempt at snow that was going on around me cheered me up. I’m calling it snow but in actual fact it was more like sleet. Thin, mean and miserly, not a bit like the big, fat, luscious snowflakes I love. If it was food it would have been gruel – and just about as exciting.

It was only last week that my friend and I had been sharing holiday stories and photographs with each other. What a lovely couple of hours we had.

She’s been to the Caribbean. Oh, the Caribbean with its beautiful bright warmth. With its colours so vivid and bright that they burn the retinas right off your eyeballs.  We looked through her photographs and marvelled at the colour of the sea and the sky, the richness of the colours and the relaxed expressions on the faces of  all the people.

Then we looked at my holiday photos from Finland. Gorgeous snow, pink and blue skies, northern lights, huskies, reindeer and fun. The expression on our faces was relaxed and happy.

Back to the real world.

No bloody chance of relaxed and happy expressions  happening here. Most people have their faces screwed up and grim, shoulders hunched and head down rushing to get back to their homes and out of the grey and dreary glumness that is an English February.

God, it’s depressing.

Hieronymous Bosch must have been on  exactly the same walk through the woods as me when he  was inspired to paint his visions of hell.

Roll on spring!

 

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