Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind

Winter floweringViburnum

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round.

And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,

That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,

So let us welcome peaceful evening in.....   *

Blow, blow, thou winter wind....  **

Indeed the wind blew fiercely and relentlessly for most of the week, and Beloved and I, looking out upon a scene of battle from behind the sheltering window glass, congratulated ourselves on the timely removal of the horse chestnut tree. The stiff and naked limbs of our one remaining giant, a stately, ancient beech tree, swayed heavily in the gusts coming up the valley from the West. So far, the river Clun has risen merely to within an inch of the top of its banks, any more rainfall will see the castle meadow flooded and Millie will have to paddle for her afternoon constitutional.

Inside, it’s been a very quiet week. Fearful of being blown off the road into hedges and ditches I left the car in the garage and made do with the village grocery shop for items like fresh milk and bread. Even that was a struggle, catching a lull in the rainstorms. There will be plenty more such weather, the forecasters say, to do with global warming and man-made climate change. If that is so then I will not be able to keep many appointments during winter, which take me away from the village. As it is, an afternoon meeting of German conversationalists was cancelled because nobody fancied getting trapped on flooded roads. I did, however, have a very pleasant hour long telephone conversation, in German, with a fellow blogger, another German lady living in the UK.We have only just started this contact and are still in the early stages of exchanging life stories.

So, for most days we did what the poet said: we put our feet up, drank tea, wrapped ourselves in cosyness and welcomed peaceful evening in. We had a short, two-hour power cut one night;  there was enough light from the sky for me to go outside through the nearest door, grope my way around the terrace at the back of the house and through another door into the scullery where the torches live. Armed with a torch it was easy to find candles and matches. I was almost disappointed when the lights came back on. We so rarely sit side by side, exchanging quiet thoughts and comfortable silences.



* from  The Task by W. Cowper
** from As You Like It by Shakespeare