Promises

Its February and so I should not be surprised if yesterday's sunny brilliance has become today's bleak frigidity; snowflakes fluttering down to taunt the snowdrops. 
The sea is steel grey with the wind rippling its surface like the ruffled down on winter geese.


But out we are anyway, fitting the last few stones into the re-built garden pond. It is as bright as a silver coin amid slate rocks and moss. Our frozen knuckles are stuffed into pockets while we survey the finished work. The switch is flipped on and clear water gurgles up through the hole in a large granite rock, and then slips chuckling down its icy face.
Quick! Inside for a hot cup of tea!


Promises, promises. But I'm holding you to it, February!