I think February often feels like this. After the rush of new year enthusiasm and energy for clearing the decks and making plans, there’s a sort of pendulum swing back and a drawing inwards. A sense of – yes, I’m looking forward to doing this thing and getting started on that… but just not yet.

I like this epilogue to winter, when the bite of cold is sweetened with sudden blue skies and a low, buttery sun, which shows up how much the windows need cleaning and the surfaces are crying out for the attention of a duster, but then rewards you with 10 minutes of such neon glory as it sets that you have to stop what you’re doing and gaze at the sky (hopelessly trying to capture it on your phone.) I like that it’s still the time for making soup and spending evenings buried under blankets on the sofa with a good drama (Maternal kept us hooked here recently), but a couple of pounds will buy a week’s worth of cheer in a vase of daffodils, and my walk into town is scented with the spice of hot cross buns being made in the bakery.

And there’s the snowdrops – the first flowers to emerge from winter hibernation. The ones in our garden never seem to thrive much, so I’ve enjoyed spotting them on walks (mostly in various graveyards – in the midst of life we may be in death, but the reverse is also true.) The other afternoon I went outside with my secateurs to indulge in some therapeutic pruning and noticed that the rhubarb is already emerging from the soil in its pale, slightly sinister way. It’s amazing that those beautiful pink stems and emerald silken leaves unfurl from such an unpromising start.

Talking of unpromising starts, I’m at that stage of a new book. Like the rhubarb, it’s hard to imagine at the moment that it will ever be beautiful or delicious, but I’m reminding myself that this is part of the process.  It’s all going on under the soil at the moment; ideas germinating and taking root, and the hope that green shoots will show soon. It just takes time, and the right growing conditions. (Peace, solitude, tea, and biscuits. And a bit of spring sunshine certainly helps. )