Winter's Walk

Ralph (incarcerated)

I fed the prisoner some oatmeal

to warm his tummy on such a cold day.

Greedy thing! He ate it so quickly that he got

an oatmeal mustache. But when I returned with

the camera, he had rinsed it away.

He fixes me with an accusing eye.

When I can't get outside for my daily walk, I start to feel like a caged thing.

I walk, almost every day, for exercise and mental health - I'm not sure which comes first, or even if I could differentiate between them. I will walk in most weather conditions: hot, warm, cold, spitting, raining, snowing, or blowing. I draw the line only at pelting it down and that horrendous combination of wet and wind which is, for me, most insalubrious.

I know that only a Texan (or similar) would find England cold. Compared to what the Canadians and Finns (for example) have to put up with, England's winter is practically balmy. However, I think that most people would agree that England does specialize in a form of bone-chilling damp that has evolved a hot tea/hot fire/hot AGA loving people.

It might seem contradictory, but I think that proper cold is preferable to all the wettish, grayish mucky muck. After a few teasing little snow flurries and sub-degree temperatures, we awoke to a beautifully frozen world on Saturday morning. Suddenly, all of those sad shrubs and sodden grasses acquired an elegant frosting. After bundling up to feed the chickens, I felt inclined to wander out and inspect the changes that the frost wrought.

The field to the right of our back garden.

It looks so pastoral, but I have left out the view of my neighbor's junk car collection. (We live nearby the English version of Sanford & Son.) But don't those weeds look lovely?

Hillview Farm, next door on the left-hand side

Usually, it is a world of mud.

On a clear day, you can see the hill

of Watership Down on the horizon.

Our road cuts through old farming ground.

The road is dense with houses on both sides, but tiny parcels of farmland lie behind. It feels rural and strangely suburban at the same time.

I climbed up onto a high bank to take this picture.

Again, the solitary splendor of the view misrepresents the reality: a busy thoroughfare full of speeding cars, cyclists, walkers, horses and the occasional inconvenient lorry. The one-lane road must make room for many.

This rather steep hill is so densely thicketed that it stays dark on even the sunniest of days. Although it is only a mile from the bus-stop at the top of the hill to our Barn at the bottom of the hill, my daughter has successfully argued that it is a hazardous journey.

She requires car service; unlike her mother, she doesn't enjoy a nice walk.

English winter, even when frosted, is monochrome.