Where are those bright crisp mornings when the sky is the palest blue...hedges and trees tinged with frost...the faint scent of turf smoke hanging in the air.
For the last two weeks we've had heavy rain and high winds...now...don't know about you, but I don't do wind...swathing myself in scarves only makes me dribble and with oxygen prongs stuck in my nostrils it can be downright uncomfortable to wear a scarf.
So I stay indoors...muttering under my breath like an evil old witch...glaring out of the window at the rain sweeping across the field opposite...I swear it's been horizontal at times.
The birds hang onto the peanut feeders as they swing back and forth like a pendulum on a clock wound up too tight...even Molly, the escape artiste extraordinaire, hasn't bothered to lurk under the table close to the back door...ready to dive to freedom should Himself take too long opening or closing it. Instead she whiles away the afternoon sitting on the windowsill...her teeth chattering as she sees Blue-Tits and bedraggled Sparrows almost within her reach.
The wind lifts the corrugated sheets of tin on the barn roof...they slam back down with a tremendous crash...the little stone sheds are safe enough, they still have the corded wire over their roofs, wound round horse-shoes jammed tight between the stones.
Kitty's sheep huddle close together under the trees...their faces turned away from the direction of the winds, they venture a little way to eat sodden grass before going back...looking as miserable as only sheep can...folding their legs carefully under their tummies.
We have the light on all day long...it shows the cobwebs in the corners and attracts sleepy Wasps who've been lurking in the folds of the curtains...they drop to the floor and crawl about bewildered...Murphy bats at them with his paws...they have to be squashed though, so his latest plaything ends up flat and then in the range.
Himself still ventures out at six in the morning with the three dogs...he comes home cold to the bone...the dogs with muddy paws and wet fur...they shake themselves, sending a fine film of rain all over the floor and furniture and I snuggle down under the covers...cursing when they lick my face with hot tongues and stinky dog breath.
The high winds will stop, as will the rain...eventually. Once the Solstice is over we can begin to see a slight stretch in the day...
Now is the time for books and hot chocolate...for discovering a new quilt pattern or a crochet stitch to practice...a time to connect with friends old and new...write letters perhaps...sort through that box of old photographs...finish a jigsaw puzzle or play a game of Scrabble with the person you live with...send someone a RAK...a random act of kindness. A bookmark or a bar of sweet scented soap. Homemade fudge wrapped in cellophane...
Spring will come again...that is certain.
Terence Stamp was only gorgeous in his day. He's married to Sinead Cusack and they have a house in West Cork. He's very skinny now and looking his age, but still, IMO, very attractive. 
