There seems to be an extension to winter,
It is reluctant to trust spring with summer.
Longer days are festooned by swirls of cloud,
Disappointment is becoming a regular visitor.
Soggy paths and water-logged recreation fields,
Plans abandoned for an internal vantage point.
Forest trails and tasty fresh air picnics curtailed,
Picturesque Dales and Pennines look a tad sad.
Weather predictions arouse fear with excesses,
The jet stream tosses opportunities high and low.
Wardrobes bulge with the eccentricities of dress,
Woollies wearing thin with the frequency of choice.
Sallow complexions depressed without sighting sun,
Minds exercised by counting down towards autumn.
Umbrellas and sunglasses occupy handbag spaces,
Strawberries and cream seems an unseasonal menu.
Other years when salads were crisp and so refreshing,
Set aside with apparent shivers of seasonal confusion.
©Copyright Eileen T O’Neill 02/06/2015