January is here,
with eyes that keenly glow,
a frost-mailed warrior
striding a shadowy steed of snow
When the ice of winter holds the house in its rigid grip, when curtains are drawn against that vast frozen waste of landscape, almost like a hibernating hedgehog, I relish the security of being withdrawn from all that summer ferment that is long since past. Then is the time for reappraisal; to spread out, limp and receptive, and let garden thoughts rise to the surface. They emerge from some deep source of stillness which the very fact of winter has released.
There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollow in snow.It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray, every blade of grass, every spire of reed, every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.
There are two seasonal diversions that can ease the bite of any winter. One is the January thaw. The other is the seed catalogues.