just about January still and not quite February yet… a nearly and almost but… not…… on the cusp of a cusp where balance is clearly most crucial…. returning to one having worn out the counting one to thirty one…… but it’s January still and not quite February yet…… while budding unnoticed the witch hazel buds that’s most unregarded being so unexpected that anything much might be growing while the rest of the land still sleeps…… overlooked too forsythia, berberis, even the earliest burst of a blackthorn taking a chance but careful as such not to peak too soon…… but there are the snowdrops stealing the show in their show-stopping way the colour of snow with heads that drop, so, in a permanent pose of preparing to stretch but not quite there just yet, just yet, as instead they’re content to just stare at their toes in mute contemplation unknown to the rose, oh ye showy rose, it isn’t your time, not yet, not yet, it isn’t your time quite yet……… even from tufts of the tiniest grass there are stirrings most restless and feckless to tweak a bit, tweak a bit, tweak a bit taller, a barely perceptible sign of their pointing wet fingers into the air to see which way, which way the wind blows……. is it time, is it time?….. how can it be as it’s January still and not quite February yet…… but there’s birds on the air, as there always is, but mostly the winter birds still and not yet packed up their knapsacks and fluttered away to the north or the west or the east not quite yet…… there’s still berries aplenty and slugs underfoot upon which to gorge and gorge just enough for their muscles and bones to pluck up the courage to flee…. but it’s not February yet as it’s January still and many more days before March…….
© robert greig