The Song Has It.

For nearly three weeks the landscape where I live has been uniformly white, buried under several feet of snow. Yesterday afternoon, the gentle but persistent northerly airflow that’s been keeping Britain in virtually sub-arctic conditions backed to a westerly and strengthened.

I looked out of the widow this morning and was astonished to see that half the landscape had turned green, and the other half had green patches on it. As I type this at 4 pm, the colour white has become almost a memory. The speed of the thaw has been quite remarkable. When I went outside this morning the wind was singing in the wires, and I thought of a favourite song, which I think is Irish.

The snows they melt the soonest

When the wind begins to sing.