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.
