Dear March, come in!

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat—
You must have walked—
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the bird’s;
The maples never knew
That you were coming,—I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me—
And all those hills
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.

Emily Dickinson

Winter II











It’s been snowing again in Oxford, wet slushy snow, which melts away almost as soon as it falls. I’m pretty much done with this winter, but the weather forecast is telling we are to have about three more weeks of cold misery left. Grrrr. Somehow at this time of the year I don’t see the nice parts of winter anymore – woolly socks and jumpers, wine in candlelight, fire don’t do it for me anymore. Give me spring flowers, gentle winds and flip flops!