Think spring. Think summer, even. But spring is so near at hand you can even see its traces now. The catkins on the hazels, small but soon to be long and yellow and dangly. The lesser Celandine will appear in due course. The snowdrops are well above ground, likewise the crocuses. How long before they blossom? Mentally urge them into that state. Other signs of life as buds begin to swell on trees - sooner than you think. Shelley put it thus: "If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" That was in his Ode to the West Wind.
And Christina Rossetti has this touching poem which ends: "If I might see another Spring/ I'd laugh today, today is brief,/I would not wait for anything:/ I'd use today that cannot last,/ Be glad today and sing."
And scuffling around in the oak leaves you might kick up an acorn that already has spring in mind, for you will see a small white shoot breaking through at the pointed end. And here is a story of faking spring. It is a household habit to put a few unsprung acorns, points down, into a bottle full of water. Soon, if you're lucky, the point of a root will appear. Then it will branch into smaller roots and suddenly one day you find to your delight that a green shoot with folded leaves has broken through on the side.
If you have it at a window, the young shoot will soon lengthen, and when you have about six leaves on it you could lift it out of the bottle, pot it in the appropriate mixture and leave it out in the open. Already one has reached that state; so the first oak of 2001 joined its big brothers ten days before Christmas 2000. That, of course, is just playing games or showing off. But it works. Look around you for other signs of spring. Birds nesting? And what is the first bird to build a nest? Blackbird? It won't be next month but could be in February. Watch them strut.
And even in the worst days of wind, Thrushes and Blackbirds were singing before light dawned: in South Dublin and in mid-Meath. And probably, no, certainly, elsewhere.
Christina again: "If I might see another Spring,/ I'd listen to the daylight birds/ That build their nests and pair and sing,/ Nor wait for mateless nightingale,/.
A happy, holy and almost springlike Christmas to you.
Y