It’s relentlessly wet. After two days of relatively decent weather, we’re back to endless wind and rain.
Even the sheep seem a bit pissed off – and sheep are not easily vexed. The last time I walked “the loop” on Sunday (a circa 2.5-mile hike into the peninsula, emerging at the south end of the village), I ran into a group of sodden ewes. Our eyes met as I passed.
“Ba-a-a-ah,” I said.
“Is it nearly spring yet?” they all replied, wordlessly.
This close to the sea, the air is damp in any season. The rubber seals at the bottom of my car windows provide a habitat for long-stemmed moss, even in summer, which I find fascinating (and perhaps a little disconcerting).
But January takes precipitation to another level. Farm and forestry roads turn into temporary rivers and wash away underfoot, and one by one, hillsides develop deep, brown wounds as layers of grass slide away.
There’s usually a break between storms, but not this week. High winds and sleet every single day for the foreseeable future.
Ah – hear that? It’s hailing again. Goodness me.
Only 69 more days until the next equinox.