Another unit of life comes to an end - but is it an end? We think in terms of years that are eeked out by the movement of our lonely cosmic planet about our equally lonely sun.
These revolutions of our homely orb are marked by seasonal changes in weather that remind us of time passing.
After a cold December, the thaw has set in and the wet winds of winter return. Life, at its nadir, struggles to survive. The birds, of all kinds, seek out food to keep alive. All, who can, hibernate.
I often think that the word 'hibernate' and 'Hibernia', the latin name for our isle, are two of a kind. In Hibernia, in winter, we struggle to survive, and given a chance, we would all seek a place to sleep away the odious winter.
The wind howls and the rain beats against the windows. The days are darkly short and cold. The colour grey persists.