A shallow fall and a slow thaw through the morning. The car consented to be scraped without undue fuss, and we ventured out.
Inland lay mostly black and white:
Outfacing, the sea red with clay.
I wimped out of walking. The air was raw.
I took the car to pick up a bag of coal and then on to stretch its legs. The roads were still dry but the sky was thickening steadily. Close observers will note that I clung to the car’s interior.
The land was bleached of its colour by the cold and darkened to dun by the flattened light.
“This season’s daffodil, she never hears …”
and it’s all been one too many even for the Christmas rose. As for the primroses, the images of their shrivelled and blighted flowers are just too sad.
Keeping water liquid for the birds required multiple visits with jugs of hot water. Seagulls came down in a mob on the breadcrumbs, and were so famished that they wouldn’t fly away until I was standing among them, able to physically touch them. Hitchcock, anyone?
The small garden birds did have time for a bite and a drink before dry hard snow began to sweep in, blown hissing down the road like sand, in vicious gusts. It was a relief to know all the nearestsanddearests were in their respective residences.
Currently working from my old laptop, as slow as treacle (and cold treacle at that). Buffeting and banging outside, and the sound of sleetiness; not sure what will be lying tomorrow, but it won’t be cosy.
While attending the intensive and oscillating between anxiety and narcolepsy, I considered a few of the local amenities. (Click a thumbnail for the gallery)
I went in search of light relief this morning; a middling old churchyard full of sunshine and crocuses and leucojums is no bad place to start. (Click a thumbnail for the gallery)
It has finally come in useful.
The week’s events have been insufficiently minute to describe, so I went looking for some smaller ones. It’s not exactly the season for pond dipping and the water fleas aren’t as fat and frolicsome as summer ones, but still quite a good population. Looking for small dishes for the microscope platform, the egg poacher fell victim and was scissored into convenient modules. (Click a thumbnail for the gallery)
Once they had done their unwilling duty, I liberated the beasties back into their larger world.
(Click a thumbnail for the gallery)
Last night we walked across the Square, emptied of its Christmas market, the illuminated trees looking like the trees which gave James Thurber’s great uncle chestnut blight, only rather more festive.
The cathedral’s midnight service accommodated about a thousand, most of whom had colds. It was … tasteful. Won’t bother with that one again then. I miss the raw edges of home grown celebrations.
and the last hour of a falling tide, it was possible to walk further along than I have been before. (Click a thumbnail for the gallery.)
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Another homecoming to best beach (click a thumbnail for the gallery):
With a few gleams of sun on a good drying day, I raced the mower up and down the soggy grass, one eye cocked to the sky for the next shower, and the wind blowing my hair out of its pin into witchiness.
Having got round before the rain, there was time to visit a few neglected perennial pots.