Deep snow shrouded the village overnight, white and silent, covering the fields – where several hares were running through the cold morning
– the snowfall striped branches of a beech tree – a hungry kestrel perched alone on a treetop, frost-puffed, waiting for lunch – the path across the top of the hill was deserted –
– frosted ivy berries shivered in the cold – in the garden the bird feeders were busy all day long with blackbirds, the resident robin, longtailed tits, blue and great tits, sparrrows – and a goldfinch
– the corner of the garden under the yew tree was smothered in white, even as never before in the place of deepest shade – and the east wind had drifted a bank of snow against the front door….
In his In the Country, Edward Thomas writes of the ‘majestic quiet, of the destiny which binds us to infinity and eternity