Jack frost has been up to his old tricks again. I am hiding for a few weeks in the countryside, away from the traffic and noise and general madness of yuletide consumerism. But he has found me. And he is relentless.
The little valley around me hasn't thawed for days. Neither have my feet.
There is half a mile between me and civilisation. A beautiful, crunchy, crispy, slippery half a mile. The little kid in me loves to trudge through these leaves. I feel like a giant ploughing over a carpet of frosted flakes.
But the artist in me wants to preserve these little gems. Discarded leaves dusted in ice transform into something quite beautiful.
The sensible part of me knows that they will soon start to melt, so I find a happy medium. The artist gets out her camera and snap snap snaps, then the kid gets her wellies on and jump jump jumps!
That old Jack is a handy little decorator though isn't he? Who'd have known I'd want to cut a bramble and stick it on top of a Christmas cake? Maybe I need to make some sugar leaves before I start munching on a hedge on my way home!
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