shaky little legs

First Sight
Philip Larkin
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.

This is one of my favourite poems, aside from it being high time that I give it some exposure (everyone read it and like it!) it actually seems kind of appropriate right now.

Having spent the last few days in the upper reaches of North-East Scotland, it's kind of disappointing being back in England where everything is noticeably un-snowy. (As a side note, if you're ever in Scotland near Christmas and stuck for something to do, go and stand still on an icy high street and let the frantic shoppers push you along. Great, cheap and only slightly dangerous fun.) So I've got snow on the brain. And lambs too, since I had a weird dream about one. In the dream there was a pathetic shivery lamb in a frozen field, standing in a giant icy puddle. Its legs were trapped in the ice because it had fallen through but it wasn't strong enough to climb out onto the ice and get away (I blame this on a nature programme I watched in which something similar happened to a bird in Peru..). Being the hero that I am, I slid my way across the ice and stomped the ice around the lamb, breaking a path to the edge so it could scramble out onto the grass. Any dream analysers want to have a go at that one?

I happened to have this dream on Sunday night, whilst staying in a Travel Inn in Aberdeen. Why is it significant? Well, on Saturday night, because life's funny with its timing, eight members of my family simultaneously developed an explosively nasty stomach bug. Explosive being a very accurate word to describe the bug's effects. Nuff said. Having spent all of Saturday night and the wee hours of Sunday morning inspecting the u-bend of our Travel Inn bathroom, I spent the rest of Sunday flat on my back, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out if I was in fact still alive. On determining that I was, in fact, some kind of living creature still, I got up and tottered around the room for a while in search of water. Tottering, she says? Yes, tottering. Much like a newborn lamb... Although maybe not so pleasing to the eye. It was good, in a way. Nothing like projectile vomitting to help you appreciate the little things in life, like standing up, being able to eat a whole meal without it returning in a "2for1" style revenge attack. When you've been ill, you kind of re-learn how to live your daily life.

But the whole newborn lamb thing goes further than that. Some of the more observant amongst you may have noticed that I haven't exactly been the most cheerful of souls recently. That is actually a spectacular understatement, but I have whinged enough! It does feel a lot like I'm starting again. I'm starting to appreciate all the stuff that I've been taking for granted, like the fact that I have a family, several wonderful sets of friends and most importantly, my whole life ahead of me to make mistakes and figure out how not to make mistakes.

Like in the poem. The lambs are tottering around in the freezing cold and they're thinking, damn, it's kind of cold and bleak, is this all there is? And all around them, growing under the snow, there's all the amazing beauty of spring and summer, all the grass and trees and flowers that we take for granted is there waiting for these lambs that have absolutely no idea of how good it's gonna get. It's a comforting thought. Winter's my favourite season but I'm aiming for the metaphor - I've had my December, my new year's on it's way and my Spring's just around the corner - utterly unlike the snow.

lots of love.

PS. Thank you to everyone who's been praying for me and my family and supporting and just generally being wonderful. You rock my socks.