The current bout of cold weather is being called the Beast from the East. I think I prefer the poem:
The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor Robin do then? Poor thing. He’ll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing.
Not a lot of snow in London, snow is a rarity here. I got my washing mainly dry on the line this morning, though until the sun reached it, some of it was stiff and frozen. It was bitterly cold, and my cuddle with Hartley was shorter than he wanted. He was curling up on my lap preparing for a snooze when I stood up and headed back indoors to the warmth of the flat. I didn’t think it was going to snow, the forecast showed a twenty per cent chance but the skies were blue. But as I knuckled down to some of the endless paperwork the room became very dark, and I looked up to see real snow, serious snow, swirling about. It started to settle. For about half an hour it continued, then stopped. Tonight there is some left, a smattering, and it will freeze, so tomorrow pavements will be icy and treacherous.
But it is pretty.
I had to photograph the honey fungus on the cherry tree to send pictures to a tree surgeon so I took a few more photos of the garden while I was at it. I don’t know where the robin was, but this male blackbird seemed happy enough.I checked the bird feeders to make sure the resident avian community won’t starve.
I was glad Hartley seemed to gone inside for once, otherwise he’d have probably expected me to sit down on the garden seat and pet him.
The holly berries looked brightly seasonal.
The other plants – a rose in bloom, flags about to unfurl, the green leaves of the lemon-scented geranium, and the still flowering pink geranium looked caught out, like pole who turn up for a party in the wrong clothes.
MasterB had looked into the street earlier, and shown no further interest in going outside. We had some energetic feather play in the sitting room instead.
I haven’t decided yet about yesterday’s story, so I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and read it now. I never enter competitions, so perhaps I should even if I feel this piece needs more work, just for the experience.