I've just been out in our tiny but perfectly formed garden, to feed the birds. They seem to appreciate it at this time of year and I like seeing them from my window. The only other time I tramp up the garden path in Winter is to get the logs in from the shed or to empty the compost peelings into the conical shaped bin. It's so cold and miserable that the worms have all migrated to the centre of the mulch, huddled to keep warm I expect. The perennials are dead and rotten, the greenness of the lawn is mainly moss and I never did get to the garden centre to buy tulips this year, so no colourful Spring display for us.
I see Winter as a chore, something that has to be done, like the house work or filling in your tax return. I see it as a long drawn out affair, like a marathon with Christmas being the half way post but the worst and hardest part left to run. The upside is that the shortest day is nearly upon us, giving us three minutes more light in our day, every day, until the glorious Summer has arrived.
Every Summer I stand bare-footed in my tiny, but perfectly formed garden and breathe in the hums, the stillness, the colour and warmth on the soles of my feet - wishing it could always be like this but understanding there is no yin without yang.