The front garden of the house on Llanbadarn Road where they lost a tree when it fell into the road has its yearly flush of snowdrops appearing. It gladdens my heart to see it. The uprooting of the tree last year (was it last year?) has meant that the blanket of white is a little more patchy then before but nevertheless it is joyful in this January blackness.
He brought home some daffodils though I wanted some hyacinths. I love the smell and am always more comfortable with something growing than something cut off from its source of life. Yet, the daffs are lovely and I am appreciative. I spread them amongst as many vases and vessels as I can. I even have some in here. They open so soon in this warmth. I like the bud stage best with all that promise of honeyed-yellowness to come.
There is a Christmas tree in the window of a front room along North Parade. It has been denuded of all lights and decorations yet it remains still green and fresh. Will they keep it forever?
What comfort there is in pattern.
And there was no ice though I took my stick.