Hard rain and daffodils

A gray day...but, strangely enough, a gray day 

makes the bunches of daffodils in the house have a particular radiance, 

a kind of white light. 

From my bed this morning 

I could look through at a bunch in the big room, 

in that old Dutch blue-and-white drug jar, and they glowed. 

I went out before seven in my pyjamas, 

because it looked like rain, 

and picked a sampler of twenty five different varieties.*

It is the moment now. Daffodils, many different kinds,

are glorious, in spite of a whole day of hard rain and wind...

It is the moment because the leaves on the trees have not yet sprung, 

so the light and blue sky shine through feathery, just swelling twigs. 

The structure is still visible and that is what gives the effect of stained glass.

* Two extracts from Journal of a Solitude - May Sarton

entries for May 15th and 16th written in Nelson, New Hampshire.

So I mustn't complain about this late cold, wet Spring -

she had another seven weeks to wait.

Desperate measures

As winter renews its grip

I have resorted to bringing indoors the 

 hopelessly optimistic blooms and blossoms

which have been repeatedly bludgeoned by snow and icy winds.

In a bid to entertain a housebound three year old

I started fiddling with some loo rolls and a taller inner tube from

some tinfoil which had a slighter smaller circumference.

Et voila, the Twisty Loo Roll Dressing up Girls© were born.

So far there are four interchangeable heads,

two tops, two skirts, and two leggings per girl.

Grand-daughter, rearranged the body parts to her own satisfaction

and to my slight distress, but she's gone home now

and I can play with them to my heart's content

refine the design and add to the wardrobe.

I had boys.

I've waited a long time for this.

Smoke and mirrors

Still coughing.

And thinking about the 500 pub-goers and diners of Salisbury 

who must be wondering whether it is really a sufficient precaution

to wipe their phones, glasses and jewellery with baby wipes

to get rid of traces of Novichok, a chemical more toxic than sarin.

And then what do they do with the baby wipe?

Pop it into the recycling bin?

And here I am worrying about how to dispose of my old electric toothbrush head

in an environmentally responsible way.

A shot in the arm

The snow has all but gone here in the south

and I'm waving a hopeful hanky at the departing Cold.

These anemones have been a cheering sight.

I've had enough of hibernation now.