A cold wind has come down from Siberia bringing arctic air. Freezing winds that cut through the limp daffodils already sprouting and blizzards that have buried everything in a few inches of snow.
This is not as cold as the winter of late 2010 or some of the winters of the twentieth century - 1947, 1962 and into 1963 (all before my time) - but we have seen the Lakeland fells covered in snow from early December. There's been no let up since late Autumn.
Although dark nights and cold weather are supposed to prompt writing - because there's not that much else to do, it is argued - this is starting to feel like a drag. Some warm evenings with sunshine would be nice. Just enough to boost energy and creativity levels.
Maybe March will be a better month?