England hasn't seen this much snow in years. As you might guess, it's causing chaos on the roads and a few pour souls have been found, frozen and breathless. A hundred years ago, the Great River Ouse was used as ice skating rink and many of the those vintage skates are now housed as a fine display in the St. Ives. museum. I've seen sepia photos of women from that era, skating in long, woolen skirts. I wonder how heavy and awkward that must have been. And what ever happened to those furry muffs women used to wear to keep their hands warm ? Could it be, they haven't come back into style again because of mobile phones - we need to keep our hands free to text. Sad. So this photo below, was the view from my window two days ago. Snow.
The legendary Jack Frost is touching his icy finger to all blossom, leaf and stem. One caress and nature sleeps and then dies, it's task completed for another year. This lovely rose is putting up a worthy fight.
Everything is a picture postcard. Dusted white, serene and quiet.
I love this old{e} building. Especially the door. I stood there thinking of all the things I could make from that door. A table, lovely shabby chic photo frames. A door even.
I returned to the Thicket Path to smell the snow - that crisp, fresh, perfect winter scent. I've decided that Winter has it's own bouquet made up of cinnamon, mulled wine, reflection, laughter, hope of new beginnings, love of family and friends, pine, ribbons and wrapping paper, mittens and frosty breath.
Can you smell it ?
Ha Ha Ha ! Just try to bite my fingers now you naughty horse ! He doesn't look too happy now does he, standing there in the cold. I shouted out "I have a carrot for you." But he never even looked up. Actually, I didn't have a carrot. Maybe I should knit him a hat. Poor fellow.
I was feeling ambitious and so, walked the entire six miles round the villages. This little ginger bread cottage is one of the first you will see when you walk into the village of Houghton. It's lovely !
I'm always amazed at how some of the images I take, look like a period painting. It's not me, it's England !
A snowy coat gives even these old chairs a more interesting veneer.
I was surprised to see this little fountain flowing freely in in cold weather. Do you want to know how cold it was to walk the six miles ? Let me tell you then. On me, there are two body parts that always get cold. My fingers and my bum. Or as I would say to my American readers, my ass cheeks. Now, I have two different theories about my bum getting so cold. Either it really is cold or, there's just so much of it ..... What am I like then ? Ha Ha Ha !
This idyllic, landscaped house is supposedly the oldest house in this area. It was the home of a famous writer/poet. Maybe for a future blog post - I'll write about the history of this house and the occupants. The gardens are open to the public - I think for a donation of course. The house offers tours also.
I was ever so happy to see the church and St. Ives on the horizon. By now, I had no feeling in my fingers and my bum was numb. The motor on my Nikon lens was not working either, so I stuck my camera under my coat to warm it a bit. In spite of all of my shivering, I was enjoying my walk.
I happened to meet a Scottish chap whilst walking across the last stretch, he was taking his daily exercise round the meadow. He looked at my red face and then at my feet and said "where are your wellies my dear ?" My trousers were soaked half way up my to my knees. I was wearing my water proof hiking boots and strayed off the path, wading through a large pool of ankle deep water in this meadow. I hadn't even noticed. All I could think of by now, was getting home and having a cuppa !
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