This is the showshoe hare. It changes colour in the winter. It adapts. Well, good for the showshoe hare. I'm very pleased for it. But I don't adapt, and I've had enough of this winter.
The year is divided into four seasons; right? Twelve months divided into four = three months each. Fair enough. But this winter has had its three months - and some -and is now being greedy. The birds are beginning to sing (albeit rather nervously) and one or two green things are poking recklessly out of the soil, but IT IS STILL WINTER. We need sun. We need spring. It's my birthday this week, and my mother (who had been known to embelish the truth, but never mind that) used to tell me how I lay in my little cot beside her in hospital under boughs of prunus blossom that someone had brought in (aaaah!). Well, I certainly won't be lying under boughs of prunus - or any other kind of blossom - this year.
