Come outside and play, it said.
The sun rises.
It offers no heat.
Casting shadows - silhouettes of trees across walls and fields and newly emerging winter wheat.
The temperature has dropped rapidly.
The bright light is deceptive.
It is bitterly cold; sharp and piercing.
I walk - hatless - my ears tingle.
And I cannot feel my fingers.
I wear a thick wool coat but the wind finds its way inside.
I pull my collar closer and walk a little faster.
Not my favourite month.
When life becomes dull.
And rainbows hang half-hearted in the slate grey skies.
And the heart is restless.
Waiting for spring.