Peeping froo...

... Not in the garden (ours are not through yet), these were in a local churchyard.

There is something so determinedly cheerful about a snowdrop.
My Dad loved them. So, with typical teenage cussedness, I tried very hard to dislike them. I tried to hate the jazz music he played loudly in the house too.
I’m delighted to say I was won over to both snowdrops and jazz many years ago.
He, however, (bless) is still of the very active opinion that all (all!) guitars should be burned.
I don’t argue any longer. (We all make our choices).

Still it is snowing from time to time here.
Everywhere looks so picture perfect in the white stuff :-)