In 1906 Edith Holden started a Diary, now known as ‘The Country Diary Of An Edwardian Lady’. In it, she observed Natures cycle through the months of the year, writing simply about the weather, the birds, the flowers and the natural world around her. All the pages are beautifully ornamented with her original artwork and favourite poems. In this Blog, I’m going to try to emulate her Diary in a modern way. For a start, this is a blog on a computer, not pen and ink lovingly written on paper! However, I hope that the end result will have some similarities, in that I want to capture day by day, month by month the steady rhythm of Nature through the year. For although our 21st century lives are hectic, chaotic, noisy and deafened by electronics, the beat of the natural world, which is the backdrop to all our lives whether we notice it or not, remains ever the same. So take a sedate, gentle and steady-paced journey with me through the next year, observing the natural world. Our way of life may have changed almost beyond recognition since 1906, but nature is doing what it always has done, the cycle of nature remains constant and reassuringly predictable. In that respect, nothing has changed. ‘ No Winter lasts forever; no Spring skips its turn.’ (Hal Borland)

Sunday, 10 March 2013

March 10th

'Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn’. Lewis Grizzard.

Mothering Sunday today, and a perfect month to celebrate creation and birth. The earliest pre-Christian festivals held in March were to honour the Mother Goddess and the Spring-time cycle of new life and rebirth.
The mild weather of the last few days has ended, and a bitterly icy wind from the east has started blowing. Despite the return of the cold weather, the first frogspawn has been laid in Usk schools pond, and I’ve been watching two pairs of blackbirds busily collecting material for their nests which are both in patches of thick ivy. The blackthorn too is blossoming, its delicate white flowers must be much hardier that they look.

March winds- Horace.D. Grosser
Blow, winds of March, and bring the brightening days!
Blow, ruthless winds! for life is in your breath.
The moorland skies are colourless as death,
Bleak are the meads and all the woodland ways.
Earth faints for glimpses of the unseen blue,
So long deferred the hope of shining hours.
O stormy winds! the trees and waking flowers
Are calling, and their cry is unto you.

Breathe round the orchards, till the gaunt grey boughs
Dream of wet-petalled blooms and mellowing fruits.
Crisp the dank moss about gnarled forest roots,
And bid from sleep the sweet frail faces rouse.
Come forth, and with white glories let the lanes
Hide their young leaves; with silent laughter fill
The curl'd lips of the yellow daffodil,
And wring from drifting clouds the April rains.

Blow, winds of March, and fill the homeward sails
Far out on boisterous seas; the foam-wave parts
Before the rushing prow, and eager hearts
Hunger for home; more welcome the wild gales
Than all the spice winds of the southern deep.
Blow, then! we shall not tremble, but rejoice
To hear you through the night with clarion voice
Calling upon the world to wake from sleep.

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