Twitcher in the Swamp
"I don't know about you, but normally I have a problem with February. It's a spiteful crab of a month, full of sullen refusals and unkept promises. It wears you down, then spits in your eye. However, this year was an exception. One grim grey winter's day I picked up my pen, and when I laid down again the sun was smiling in a blue sky, larks sang and yellow butterflies were chasing one another down the dappled hedgebanks. I didn't notice February at all. What was it like?"