Many people like Bing Crosby dream of a white Christmas but very few on these shores experience it. It might be a day later, but on Boxing Day but it was white with snow.
Fuelled by treacle toffee kindly delivered by Santa, off we trundled into the woods.
The path had been trod by others including someone perhaps who received a new bicycle for Christmas?
The snow was soft underfoot. The sky was clear with the sun mustering up some feeble strength. The temperature rose, not enough for a full melt today but the above zero air helped promote melting snow to fall from the limbs of the trees. The occasional thud and soft flurry ready to catch an unsuspecting passing body as it walked on the path below.
The game of sniff was all the more interesting for Boris today, he had several centimetres of snow to work through. Rather than fresh air. Clever noses these dogs have.
It was quiet and peaceful, just me, Boris, my thoughts – why did I not bring more toffee? And the view.
Perhaps if you concentrated you could almost hear the clouds move.http://www.fegrig.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/img_1930.mov