Spring must have arrived as the Rowan Tree has sprung into life.
My partner loved these plants. She thought every garden should have at least one in a prime location. We had a beautiful one next to the front door. Poignantly it died the winter just before our partner left us. It’s taken a few years to grow a replacement but now she would be pleased again.
These days the replacement is in a large pot in the back garden. Now that’s my running is restricted to endless circuits of our little garden the tree forms a helpful obstacle to run round. On my last epic run I rather sadly counted how many times I passed the little tree. 213 times….. Yes I can count that far.
So according to the Rowan Tree and the daffodils it is Spring. Can someone tell the weather. It’s freezing. Even the bird bath is frozen every morning. This means the path is icy. That explains my latest fashion statement. My son looked at me with one of those Paddington Bear stares, shock his head and sighed.
“Dad in most cases the human species has been evolving for millions of years. Clearly there are one or two exceptions to that.”
I had just finished my early morning workout and has decided to feed the birds. On my way to the bird table I slipped on the icy pavement. When I say slipped I mean a full ‘arse over tit’ moment. Most of the bird seed, bread crumbs, surplus rice and water landed on my very large head. It was a fetching look especially when it was merged with a white T-shirt and pink compression leggings.
Don’t you bloody love Spring.
While on the subject of Spring let’s seamlessly transition into our weekly fix of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week Chelsea has set the following task
It’s Springtime in Yorkshire
The Sun is still on vacation
Still waiting for it to be a scorcher
Oh the pigging frustration
The path is covered in ice
And I’ve just landed on my bum
Now I’m wearing last nights rice
And I feel a right dumb dumb
The washing on the line is frozen rock solid
The gale force wind screams over the barren field
The weeds and broken branches makes it look so squalid
The poor garden birds hide in the bushes seeking any decent shield
So Springtime is here which means dust down the garden chair
Now I’m off inside to find my extra thick thermal underwear