My first February retired!

 

February, a cruel month of searing wind rain snow and frost.

A working day begins with layer upon layer of clothes to keep you warm on your journey

Most to be discarded on arrival.

Or scraping of windscreen, rubbing of hands together, stamping of feet to ward off the cold.

 

A retired February day begins with coffee, warm coffee steaming and a shivery look beyond to see what’s what, a look at the forecast, broadcast only for me, it seems.

I plan a walk, with gloves and scarf, boots and warm socks.

Into the country seeking solace with thoughts of my own, that I own, not paid for by others.

 

Skylarks calling and chittering their haphazard song of warning of Buzzards gliding hanging waiting to swoop.

Crows mobbing raptors to scoot them away from their territory, calling harshly in the ever-present wind.

 

The wind that sears and scolds my bare face, carrying rain or snow against my endeavour.

Passing a copse that gives temporary shelter, with birds singing in it, then past back into the blast of winter in full fury.

Oh, the joy of being free to please myself, to observe a month, I once thought of as hell.

I now realise has life, lots of life, lots of fun, lots of love, for me to enjoy.