Thursday, 5 March 2009

Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

Robins sing in fluent concerto, pussy willow tentatively beads its twigs, and a clump of dotted frogspawn gel floats in the shallows.

Yet winter is loath to loosen its grip.

1 comment:

The Crow said...

How evocative, Lucy.

Perfect description of this time of year that cannot decide, like a cat at an open door, whether it wants to stay or go!