My dear old Dad loved Christmas and did his very best to provide a magical morning of surprises under the tree. During the years when he was left alone with four girls under . . .
Suddenly it's winter. A time I savour. The inclination is to hibernate, pause, mull over stuff. It's a time for saying no. A time to rest. A time to enjoy early frosty mornings. Although in . . .
Today I make a slow start. The deep winter is here. January brings, at last, the space I've been longing for. 2017 stretches out ahead, silently for now. Illness has contributed to . . .
The sky changes by the minute. As I am writing this, the calm ice covered landscape I was loving this morning is being battered by a westerly gale and driving heavy rain. Unsettling . . .
Winter reveals what's underneath; a rusty gate usually overwhelmed by briars, the cattle shed at the ruined cottage. Tantalising glimpses into what is out of reach . . .
The haze was low this morning, wafting across the fields like an amber blanket. The combination of dawn and lingering mist is one to savour for any photographer. So even . . .
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In winter our planet moves around to the best possible angle for evening sun. Through my kitchen window, night after December night, the gloaming . . .
It's early and deadly still. The best part of the day. I can see my neighbour on the hill checking her sheep. It's the same lane, the same field but in the morning frost, . . .