Hares a'Trembling

Keats knew days and nights like this, what with his beadman's dull fingers and chilled owls. I can't even bear to think of his hares in the frozen grass given that mine are so evident in their crouching misery. It's properly winter at the moment, though knowing the mercurial behaviour of the English weather we're probably not in for a nice cold snap that will last until March charges in with customary ebullience. I love the winter. There's a natural sense of things quietening down, of boundaries closing in and one's personal world shrinking protectively. It's a time for reflection. The short days and long, long evenings are calming and salving. I feel like a small furry animal safe in my warm house, looking inwards for comfort and entertainment. When it's very cold like this I still venture out for games of bridge, visits to the cinema or Snape with friends, walks around the fields or on the beach, but always there's a sense of thrill, as if these are dangerous, exciting activities and real life is near the Rayburn or the wood-burning stove with the curtains shut tight against the dark. Living in the country is possibly at its best in the chilly winter when the trees and fields are stripped bare, the hedgerows are subdued, and  sightings of people are even fewer than usual. The sense of life pausing for a few months before bursting out again like magic is always a cause for optimism.

I'm waxing lyrical of course. Wet winter days are as horrible as cold and grey summer ones, and muddy lanes irritating in all seasons. Every now and then I hear sharp bursts of gunfire as another pack of men in green descend on nearby shoots. It's all part of the package, though, and I'm grateful to be part of it. On Saturday I popped into Framlingham for a jubilee clip, ready for when my new dishwasher is delivered, and was surprised afresh at the jollity of the town on this market day. The centre was thronged with locals and a few tourists queueing up for speciality cheeses, bread, vegetables and sweet and savoury pastries, the pop-up cafe vying for customers with the Dancing Goat and the Crown, coffee-lovers laughing at the outside tables as their breath whitened the air. It's partly the Christmas spirit of course. Say what you will about this absurdly over-abundant festival, it seems to bring out the best in people, a generosity and fellowship that is often lacking. I'm feeling it myself, and might need to put a padlock on my wallet soon or the winter will be long, cold and hungry. Not a pleasant thought at all.