Catkins

Hazel catkins hang like lanolin lanterns. Little lamb’s tails that shine against the chocolate brown of the ploughed field beyond. The leaves remain tucked up, but the season is shifting. Spring is coming but winter has yet to bite. There is a different kind of cold out there though. Clouds casting shadows where even the catkins will get lost.

It is those little signs, however, that give us some perspective when so much in the world is beyond our control. The mistle thrush at dawn, the first butterfly of the year (I saw a comma on the 12th January!), gulls riding the westerly as they follow the furrows.

And all the while, time ticks.

I have been quiet for an age because I’ve been busy. Really busy. And that is a good thing. I this week submitted a manuscript for ‘The Quiet Moon’ which will be published (by Flint Books/The History Press) late this year or early next. The relief of making the deadline is countered by a sudden sense of loss. As anyone chasing a deadline can empathise, it is not a straightforward relief that comes from hitting the target. Instead is a sense of slight panic. What do I do now?

Normal, laid-back service should resume shortly.

And there are other things to highlight. Another issue of Fallon’s Angler is going to press before the week is out, and there is the film we made (on the Dorset Stour) for the last issue that I have yet to shout about.

An autumn walk with John Wright made for a fascinating podcast for CountryFile – and there were the Christmas specials (that got slightly squiffy) and a fishing trip with editor, and chief Plodcaster, Fergus that should be coming in the next week or two.

So it is a hello from me again, alongside a minor glut of self-promotion. But I hope you’ll forgive me as I hope that anyone reading this is coping with whatever might be troubling them.