February Torture

There is a hill behind our house that reaches an awkward height at the wrong place. That particular high spot means that when the rising sun is hitting the opposite mountains at nine thirty in the deeps of winter, we remain in its shadow until an hour later. Accustomed as I once was to an eight thirty winter sunrise, I am not fully awake until well into the morning. 

But now the sun has been moving back to a better position in regards to the hill. Now, it peeks over a lower side at around nine in the morning, regaling us with its warmth and light much earlier. We are in the middle of February. While it can be a cruel month, it's also telling us that the wilds and darkness of late autumn and winter are almost over. Not that this winter has been especially dark nor wild, because until late January it hasn't really rained and stormed as it usually does. Yet, it has been cold, and the days too short. 

One sure sign that the end of winter is near are the mimosas. Native to Australia, like the ever-present eucalyptus, they have become a bit of a plague to the local flora. Yet, their flowering at the end of January tells us that we're almost out of the woods. So does the thickening of the buds on fruit trees. Some years, when winter has not been at all harsh, at this time of February some trees actually begin to flower. It's not the case this year, but if this tiny spell of warmer weather we've had yesterday and today continues, it won't be many weeks before we see bridal white and childlike pinks swathing trees in gardens. 

The problem is that February can be a cruel month. Today can be spring-like, and tomorrow another gale might blow in from the Atlantic and bring behind it Arctic temperatures and leave a white glaze on the highest hills. February can play with our minds like the experienced torturer it is.

 

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