
At last the garden is re-emerging from its' fleecy blanket of snow, as the thaw sets in. In the kitchen I can hear the constant dripping from the glassy icicles, hanging from the gutters. But how I hate this in-between stage, when the garden is neither snowy perfection or it's normal bushy self.
The snow is oh-so-beautiful and oh-so-helpful to those time-pressed gardeners, who didn't quite get around to tidying away the last of the half empty potting compost bags, last autumn. It lays a thick rug over the pile of used peasticks on the vegetable plot, which were meant to be chopped into kindling, but didn't quite get there. Perhaps that is why the garden looks so peaceful in the snow - no reminders of jobs waiting to be done!
Now, in the thaw, all the half done jobs reappear, like the masts of a shipwreck in a receding tide. Their half-hidden, half-visible state seems to make them more obvious. The gardener stops to look and consider what that lumpy snow covered mound by the path is, and recognises it as a pile of flowerpots, which need scrubbing and putting away. And, with a groan, sees that the peasticks are still on the vegetable bed, and haven't melted away with the snow.
Roll on the time, when the garden looks normal again, and the gardener can turn to his best friend, the blind eye, to help him in his daily work!