We are still having some overnight frosts, and our mornings can be bitterly cold. It's that time of year when I find walking in the woods both beautiful, and depressing. The coldness of the bare tree-trunks is only occasionally forgiven by the sight of a small patch of wild violets, or the sound of footsteps crunching on last autumn's crisp fallen leaves.
My annual winter depression has a while yet to fester. When eventually I see a haze of new green in the chestnut canopies, it will begin to lift and I shall breathe again. I might even dig deeper into my box of colours , and find something warmer.
I painted this small picture just over a week ago when it was still wretchedly cold, and although for the moment our mornings are still grey, icy, and stark; our days are actually beautifully warm and sunny. My depression must soon be in danger of lifting, I can feel it in the air.