A nice afternoon nap

To St Audries in the morning so Graham could supervise the annual stocktake. It was a purely lovely drive–crisp, blue skies, sunshine on fields that are unseasonably green and, above all, the lovely, sweeping Somerset landscapes.

“Shame we’re working to a time table,” I said. “This would be a great day to stop and take some landscape pictures.”

“Do you have your camera with you?”

“Oh, yes. And the video camera.”

“Well, I shall expect you to do some nice piccies while you’re waiting for me.”

“I’ll try. But I’m having my breakfast first.”

It wasn’t much of a breakfast. Just toast and dark Oxford marmalade. Even so, when I’d done I looked out at the now-grey sky, shivered, and tucked myself up to doze. Just for a while, you understand.

Next I knew Graham was hammering on the caravan door to wake me.

I’d been deeply asleep, so much so that it took me a full mug of hot black coffee and a good while to wake up properly. We’d sort of been thinking of a side trip to Taunton, for recreation, but neither of us really wanted anything more at that stage than home, warm, lunch, and a nap. Graham needed his after his morning’s work. I needed mine after my morning’s sleep.

On the way home we spotted a woman crossing the road at Kilve, carrying a grand bunch of daffodils.

“They must have come from a sheltered spot in one of these gardens,” Graham said.

“No. Surely it’s far too early for daffodils. I’ve been looking and haven’t seen a single one.”

“Can’t have been looking very hard, then. Look, there’s one over there.”

Sure enough, there on the verge, only slightly bedraggled after the gales, was a single, brave daffodil, bright yellow in the darkening day. I’ve done a careful search of my memories and old journals and can’t remember seeing these favourite flowers so early before. During the remainder of the drive back to Bridgwater I scanned the slopes minutely, looking for snowdrops. Snowdrops ought really to precede daffodils. Nary a sight of a single little white cap dancing in the breeze. Canny plants, snowdrops, cautious, and given to biding their time before blooming, unlike their dizzy Spring companions.

I can’t find it in me to cavil over the early dancing of the daffodils, though. The few I saw lightened my heart. Not that it was so very heavy but a little more light never hurt anyone.

I spotted a gorse hedge in full bloom, and a bank of tall willows, their winter-black twigs turning Spring yellow-green with the promise of leaf. A joyful sight.

So we’re either having a lovely early Spring, or a false one, to be followed by ice and snow, and tears of regret.

I shall adopt a lilies of the field approach to it, relying on the good offices of a higher power to look after me and all the other flowers.

When we got home Dolly the Mega-cat came grumbling down the stairs to greet us and rebuke us for our absence. Then she took herself off to the back door to rebuke the weather, which had turned unfriendly once more. Not cold. Just blustery and filled with a fine rain. She’d got over her grumbling by the time we’d finished our lunch and sat across the room, yawning widely.

“Yup. You got it, Dolly,” I said. “Time we all had a nice afternoon nap.”