February Fair-Maids
The signs are there for all to see. The frogs in the garden pond have woken, shaking off winter like old men rising from stiff chairs. Hazel catkins hang thick and yellow in the brief scraps of sunlight. A few brave daffodil buds test the air. The sun provides apricity, its setting creeps past five o’clock, and hope, stubborn as ever, returns by inche ...









