With criss-cross trails on nearby Welsh hills boggy and remote, there is no great rush to go outdoors in February.
Tucked into warm corners, dogs’ noses press up against the pane as sheets of rain beat rhythmically against old stone. Cats curled into tight balls eye me slyly as I in turn stare out at the grey.
It is not the work that needs to be done that will drag me outside, rather a persistent energetic chatter, barely audible as the cold wind drops:
The measured melody of the blackbird, possibly my favourite from nursery rhymes learnt in childhood.
Incessant chatter from a confident robin, more loyal than either labrador skulking indoors.
Comforting coo-cooing of woodpigeon, already weighing heavy on branches above. When, taking flight with a couple of flaps, demonstrates beautifully a gravity-defying dip.
Yes, it will be this rousing chorus of joy and activity that will encourage me to brave outside in February.
Retreating only when high above, seagulls swoop and call - warning bells of incoming weather fronts blasting their way across the Bay, bringing in bracing, uplifting opening notes to AER.