The snow has been on the ground for a week. Every day I go out for a walk or a run in it. Over the icy ground with the freezing East to South East wind whipping my nose and ears right through the double-woolly hat. There is always something different to see even though it is the same place. Flocks of crows lazily flapping through the glowing red air home to the West for the night. Canada Geese pecking the frozen fields by the incandescent dam, and sheep painted as red as the sky and blurred by the long cold winter with ragged wool growing over-long as the season progresses. Moss envelopes North facing walls and tree boles, sprouting small seed heads or flowers. And cobwebs in the mist lacelike and drooping with fog drops. There is a crescent moon travelling over to the West and sinking as it goes, with Earthshine so bright that I can see the craters and mountains of it even on the dark side. Sometimes, I don’t want to go – it will be too cold, but it never is, and I see so much that I come home like a tycoon laden with riches and memories and sights to keep and think about the next day.
not at home 