Shropshire snow

I ventured out for a short walk this morning, as although the snow was falling it is due to rain later and as I write, there is a steady, wet spattering as it slowly melts and drips from the cottage roof. So off up the hill I went, with my camera. 

It isn't unheard of to get snow in March but it is odd to see the cheery yellow daffodil heads bent under the weight of their new white bonnets and the surrounding farmland resembling a Christmas scene.

I only noticed the other day that the trees and hedgerows were just - barely - starting to acquire the warmer flush of colour that precedes new shoots and growth, however today they were stark silhouettes, with not a hint of Spring about them.

I walked up to my usual gate, exchanging a cheery wave and hello with a father and his two children, who were playing with a sled. There was no sign of the Wrekin, which is usually plain in sight here.

Feeling a little damp and chilled, I headed home, with the  comforting sight of my little cottage waiting for me and the prospect of another day of working in the warmth of my bed. 

Snowed in

So, not being owners of even a car (let alone a four-wheel drive) we are snowed in. No gritter comes our way and the Co-op, our only shop, has been stripped. Quite often this is referred to a needless panic buying, but when the only shop for miles is almost empty and the roads to any town are impassable then things take on a different complexion. However, my habit of keeping an overstocked supplies cupboard (often laughingly referred to as my *nuclear supplies*) means that we can keep going comfortably for several days. Though we are being careful with logs and milk. And kibble.

The cats have taken personal umbrage at the disordering of their world and shuffle awkwardly through the garden like small, outraged snowploughs. Yesterday, just as the white heavens opened, I went for a solitary walk across the fields. Today Andy went a-wandering and came back with some splendid photos, such as this robin keeping within close shelter of a Dexter cow. Whether for warmth, or to take advantage of the earth being cleared (and grubs therein) - it was shadowing its large guardian, who seemed a little bemused by the attention.

Far beyond the village, the landscape lies buried and hushed.

And I might be biased, but I think nothing is as lovely as Cotswold stone in the snow.

We'll be fine - I have baked a loaf the size of a small planet.

Il neige

There are few funnier sights then seeing the surpised outrage of cats when they realise that their universe has been transformed overnight with cold white stuff.

The Cotswolds had some of the heaviest snow fall in the country. Even Andy did not attempt his 45 minute commute on the motorbike, (especially after our tumble in the ice before Christmas) . So we went for a long walk through the fields.

The muffled creaking underfoot, the soft thud of snow falling from laden branches. A muted serenity, torn by the ragged croak of a solitary crow.

A young badger, his body still soft, lies dead in a drift. We wonder how a car could have been driving so fast in the icy slush. Nearing the village, an exodus of young families pull sledges towards the hill. The old church sits serenely under its shawl.

But really, despite the fragile beauty of the snowfall, the best place to be...




...is tucked up inside, beneath a cosy blanket.