The cold deepens and the winds rise. The waning moon is reaching across to kiss Jupiter in the Eastern sky, but never quite reaches it; celestial love denied.
Haloes around the moon show the gathering frost; high snowly looking clouds feather the firmanent.
These are the miserable months, the months of riskily cycling to work on icey roads being sworn at by flatbed truck drivers as my hands freeze purple even within two pairs of gloves. Work is no warmer, there is nothing to huddle against as you try and warm your insides with gestapo ersatz coffee.
Yes there is hope. 615am, the skies are clear, the temperature glacial. But up there are the signs of spring that show that winter will not last forever. Leo the lion rests with Venus below his paws. The bowl of Virgo rises with all its galaxies I've never seen.
And brightest of all, Arcturus the orange harbringer of spring hauls itself into the sky above the streetlights.
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