When we first came back to England in January, I felt that the gloomy weather might finally get to me. It was grey, wet, and dark for the good part of every day. There had been so much novelty in the fall leading up to Christmas – blackberry season, apple season, the changing of the leaves, the first frost, the first hard frost – and now I just felt like everything was dead, and that it would be a while until new life emerged.
But I was wrong. Right at the beginning of January, I noticed white blossoms on one of the trees in the garden. At first I thought it was just another Old Man’s Beard – a wintery eruption of white cotton-like plumes on many of our bushes. But no. These were actual flowers. In January! Then I noticed it at school too – there were yellow blossoms on the branches covering the headmistresses house. And then I saw pink blossoms at a friend’s house. Could it be that in England Spring starts in January?
Wrong again. A week later, the entire countryside was covered in a thick white blanket of heavy snow. It snowed hard all day long for three days within a week. School was called off, and Zach and I made snow angels, had a snowball fight, took the dog out for long walks and somehow managed to get to the pub for a cozy festive lunch with all the other school free kids in our village. It was a week of pure magic. It only took one 50 degree day and a rainstorm to wash it all away. But just the morning I noticed the blossoms are out again.