Through the wardrobe

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.

Our little world at Froxfield has once again been transformed into a Christmas card scene.

Henny isn't keen, she comes out to peer about, makes a few grumbling clucks and scuttles back into the coop.

Walking around the garden in my warm boots, big coat and hat I can see all the bird food is frozen (what will the poor things do) this is early snow for our part of the world, too many small brown birds will perish in this unexpected weather.

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.

Late in the afternoon I walked around the corner to our little church, the old ladies will find it cold in there tomorrow morning. If they come out of course, the porch has been cleared of snow but no one has swept the path.

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