January and February….Rainy days punctuated by glimmers of sunshine and warmth. Windy days slowed by calm spells of flat sea and still trees.

On those rare days when the sun is out, when it doesn’t rain for almost a whole day, when it’s not necessary to go outside wearing all the waterproof clothes I own, nature is joyous, as am I. Breathing lung-fulls of crisp cold air, hearing the birds begin to change their repertoire from basic winter contact calls to artistic expressions of love, prowess and ownership of territory.

Frogspawn has arrived, like mysterious little dark aliens suspended in shimmering gelatinous pools, changing shape rapidly from dots to kidney beans. Mornings and evenings when the light is dull there is always the chance of seeing the periscope-eyes of those amphibians who lad them watching you cautiously from the water’s surface.

Honeysuckle and willow have started to sprout fresh green leaves, adding another layer of colour to the winter’s browns, greys and misty whites. Alder buds are purple and downy looking. Gorse adds pops of yellow, dew-dropped with rain.

Noticeably more chatty than of late, gulls on the lagoon are starting to wrap themselves in their summer plumage of fine chocolate brown head and Persil-white body with smart grey wings. Avocet are pairing up to perform elegant slow-walking mirroring routines, punctuated by the occasional kerfuffle with other pairs straying too close. Godwit are starting to glow every so slightly orange as their russet chests emerge from the smudgy grey of their winter colours.

As I write this my ever-present companion, robin, sings outside my window, joyously proclaiming his territory despite the rain (and if we could interpret, probably sending subtle threats to other male robins nearby). He serves as a constant reminder that even on the gloomiest days, when I may not feel like going outside, there is still reason to do so. There is still life, light and music.

Although the weather is grey, spring is telling me it’s just around the corner. I am determined to tap into some of that mysterious sense of the world around them that all the other beings of the natural world seem to have. To feel and experience the smallest hidden changes in weather, light and tone. To be less apart and more a part of the world around me.

It’s the only way I can, after months of feeling ill, tired and fuzzy, begin to feel more like me.