I've also been trying, with mixed success, to overcome the inertia induced by some surgery in late November which restricted my mobility until very recently. Once you get into the habit of mooching about indoors, reluctant to test the boundaries of your new comfort zone, it's awfully hard to break out of it. Dull, dull weather doesn't help. A brief morning outbreak of sunshine, or a pretty frost would get me out in the back garden at breakfast-time, but it was generally gone by the time I was ready to think about going out.
As a consequence, I've been reading a lot, drawing a lot (once I've got my hand-eye-brain mojo back I may show some here), and browsing through my image backfiles, like a soothsayer looking for hints of the shape of the year to come. But, as the financial advisers are required to say, "past performance is not necessarily a guide to future performance". I'll say. I came across these next two pictures looking at Februaries past, and liked them for their clarity, and the fact they weren't taken in the back garden. Both from February 2012.
M3 motorway from the B3335
And, despite my declared reluctance to revisit the past, I've spent a fair amount of time there in recent days, having broken out some old notebooks and read about the acts and opinions of some strange young man whose terrible handwriting seems uncannily similar to mine. If nothing else, it's been a useful reminder of the value of writing things down. For, dear reader, whatever you think you remember about your past, you're probably wrong. And so is everybody else. But in your case you probably don't have written (or drawn) evidence to the contrary. In the absence of which -- and assuming you have no belief in an omniscient Recording Angel, whose revelatory notebooks will eventually be opened to us all -- your life is indeed writ in water. Which may, of course, be just the way you like it.
Ah, but I was so much older then...