The walk to work was beautiful this morning. From the train station, along the path through the fields, past sheep knelt down in hollows in the grass, looking like bales of disgruntled, bleaty hay. I can’t wait for summer: the sun-bunny in me is desperate for long days and brightness coming in from every window.
By then, I’ll probably be cycling to and from work again. It’ll be like the good old days of the commute to Abingdon, only thankfully around half that distance. Inside, I’m pretending that the following winter will never actually happen. It won’t, will it?