When
T S Eliot wrote (in 'Little Gidding', 1942)
Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown
He had in mind
Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer
He wasn't imagining that all this would be in flower in December:
Hazel catkins fully open |
Spring flowering daffodil - not an early variety |
Spring flowering forsythia |
Spring flowering hellebore - not the 'Christmas Rose' variety |
Spring flowering polyanthus |
Alpine strawberry! |
And when the weather is wet and miserable, what is more comforting than a home with a sleeping cat?
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