Seasonal Shift
23rd February 2019
23rd Feb 19
Seasonal shift
As each year passes we seem to experience more extreme weather conditions. I am not certain if this is a product of climate change, or just an increased sensitivity created by all the anxious reporting.
Whatever the real answer is, this February has been very different to the norm. The temperature this year was very much in the positive, and as the unseasonabley warm February continues, there is a weird feel and look to the landscape.
And in contrast, last year it was the Beast from the East, which had followed an already hard and long winter. It was just as we thought Spring might be emerging there was a sudden drop in temperature, deep falls of snow and strong blasts of freezing cold winds. The contrast compared to this year couldnt be more different. This February the country has been bathed by the warm trade winds from Sahara, creating record breaking temperatures.
This weather is making it a very strange time where the seasons are seemingly getting confused, and appearing to clash. It's all cold to the eye, but all warm to the touch.
On a recent shirt sleeved walk (no hat and down jacket of the previous year) I walked in a sunny woodland. The temperature was that of May, but the leafless trees stubbornly remained in February. However, in amongst the bare branches and twigs I saw ‘school’ of mischievous Long Tail Tits.
I am suggesting the collective noun of ‘school’ for the Long Tail Tits as when seen in a flock, they flit around around a like a group of infant school children. They appear filled with an innocent energy, like a group of kids who have just been released onto the playground for their break.
Then, and I guess unsurprising, as they are early returnees, I heard, high up on the limestone escarpment of Whitbarrow, my first Skylark. The sun was harshly reflecting off the grey/white rock outcrops, the wind was still and as I walked across the land a small, loud visitor rose to greet me.
The song of the Skylark filled the air and even the worrying cry of a distant Buzzard didn't dull its enthusiasm. As far as the Skylark was concerned it was Spring and we should all rejoice.
“Sing, John Ball, and tell it to them all -
Long live the day that is dawning!
For I'll crow like a cock,
I'll carol like a lark,
For the light that is coming in the morning.
(‘John Ball’ - S. Carter)
Another warm, and still February day saw me walking up the very quiet and equally beautiful Lickle Valley, no Broughton Mill. Again the trees were bare, still stuck in winter, whilst the ambient environment was appearing like early summer. On the ground I came across more early scouts of Spring. Firstly the yellow, dandelion like Sows foot, finding enough nutrients to be blooming on the rough track, thenGolden Leaved Saxifrage emerging on the wet banks of forestry drainage ditch.
This day later came with a confusing April shower. It was sudden, light, unavoidable but thankfully short. However, as the clouds moved away, they revealed an ominous dark red sky; a portent maybe, that made whole western horizon seem ablaze.
February, a month normally with its feet firmly set in winter, has changed its allegiance to the warmer seasons. Could Winter’s wrath be reflected in that red sky?
Seasonal shift
As each year passes we seem to experience more extreme weather conditions. I am not certain if this is a product of climate change, or just an increased sensitivity created by all the anxious reporting.
Whatever the real answer is, this February has been very different to the norm. The temperature this year was very much in the positive, and as the unseasonabley warm February continues, there is a weird feel and look to the landscape.
And in contrast, last year it was the Beast from the East, which had followed an already hard and long winter. It was just as we thought Spring might be emerging there was a sudden drop in temperature, deep falls of snow and strong blasts of freezing cold winds. The contrast compared to this year couldnt be more different. This February the country has been bathed by the warm trade winds from Sahara, creating record breaking temperatures.
This weather is making it a very strange time where the seasons are seemingly getting confused, and appearing to clash. It's all cold to the eye, but all warm to the touch.
On a recent shirt sleeved walk (no hat and down jacket of the previous year) I walked in a sunny woodland. The temperature was that of May, but the leafless trees stubbornly remained in February. However, in amongst the bare branches and twigs I saw ‘school’ of mischievous Long Tail Tits.
I am suggesting the collective noun of ‘school’ for the Long Tail Tits as when seen in a flock, they flit around around a like a group of infant school children. They appear filled with an innocent energy, like a group of kids who have just been released onto the playground for their break.
Then, and I guess unsurprising, as they are early returnees, I heard, high up on the limestone escarpment of Whitbarrow, my first Skylark. The sun was harshly reflecting off the grey/white rock outcrops, the wind was still and as I walked across the land a small, loud visitor rose to greet me.
The song of the Skylark filled the air and even the worrying cry of a distant Buzzard didn't dull its enthusiasm. As far as the Skylark was concerned it was Spring and we should all rejoice.
“Sing, John Ball, and tell it to them all -
Long live the day that is dawning!
For I'll crow like a cock,
I'll carol like a lark,
For the light that is coming in the morning.
(‘John Ball’ - S. Carter)
Another warm, and still February day saw me walking up the very quiet and equally beautiful Lickle Valley, no Broughton Mill. Again the trees were bare, still stuck in winter, whilst the ambient environment was appearing like early summer. On the ground I came across more early scouts of Spring. Firstly the yellow, dandelion like Sows foot, finding enough nutrients to be blooming on the rough track, thenGolden Leaved Saxifrage emerging on the wet banks of forestry drainage ditch.
This day later came with a confusing April shower. It was sudden, light, unavoidable but thankfully short. However, as the clouds moved away, they revealed an ominous dark red sky; a portent maybe, that made whole western horizon seem ablaze.
February, a month normally with its feet firmly set in winter, has changed its allegiance to the warmer seasons. Could Winter’s wrath be reflected in that red sky?