This morning when I came down to breakfast and looked out of the windows I was tempted to think that somehow in my sleep I'd gone through the wardrobe and found myself in Narnia.
The sound of children's voices glide across the valley from where they are tobogganing, mixing with the sound of geese flying in the still thick air overhead.
It is really still and quiet here today. The pristine snow looked so perfect it seemed a shame that I would walk along the path to my shed and spoil it.
Who is lonely Joan Allen I wonder, her tiny cross the only thing to mark a life.
I found her marooned near the back of the graveyard, behind the grand tombstones and finely carved slate, alone in the snow.
Deep and crisp and even . . . . Happy Christmas everyone xx