The year is stirring, but not yet awake. The ground is softening underfoot; the hedgerows still hold their breath. Snowdrops gather in quiet drifts, crocuses dare a little colour, and the birds begin rehearsing for spring - not singing yet, just clearing their throats.

And still, February often feels like the longest walk. January was

The year yawns open; the gardens slumber. The apples dream of blossom, the hellebores bide their time, and even the robins sound gentler at the gate. I’m taking my cue from Somerset itself: less rush, more root. This is a month for candle-light lists, friendly soups, and joy that starts at home and ripples out. Tie a ribbon round January; call it hopeful.