Snowdrop – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    To me, the first fragile snowdrops are the real new year, not some arbitrary date in the middle of Winter, mechanically dividing days like digits. It’s gradual, sneaks up unnoticed; one day you go out, all unsuspecting, and it’s there! Waiting for you: fresh, new, among the mulch of last Autumn’s colours.

[ An hour ago, in my garden ]

    So thus, I guess (I guess – I guess), another year slides seamlessly into the half-light of what’s past. To be half-remembered, half-forgotten and half-confused with all those others that also have so easily been lost.
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