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Celebration

Slush

Yay! Slush!

Our picture today is a photo of slush, in case you hadn’t guessed. You see so many pictures celebrating the snow. Snow on mountains, snow on holly bushes (with and without robins), cars stuck in snow, people digging snow, but when the snow goes, it recycles itself in a magical, totally environmentally friendly way, and yet no-one seems to celebrate the marvelousness of slush. So, look, look, it’s slush! It’s slush!

We set out this morning a little sandy-eyed. The trees in the woods behind the house had held a Burns Night Supper last night – and they had invited the wind. It certainly sounded as if the whisky flowed freely. I must say that the whole thing seemed fairly convivial. They must be old friends. There were times when the merriment appeared to be becoming quite out of hand. Perhaps the entertainment was someone reading some of Burns’ more humorous verses, but from our position on the outskirts of the frivolity it seem more of an adult nature. The woodland version of Billy Connolly, possibly?

As a nod to Robbie – here’s a piece he wrote. It seems to be particularly apt.

The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,
The joyless winter-day,
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!
In case you’re wondering it’s the second of three verses from Winter: A Dirge.
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