With midwinter just a day away, I walk to the Gate of the Wood, where the same two trees flank an old stone style - their buttress roots, black-barked and banked with snow.
I stay just briefly; then retrace my steps.
No sun, no fading brightness at my back.
Just a curving track, flanked by dark trunks.
Dry sleet blowing through the trees.
Grey fuzz of woody tops against the sky
A fire at home - but still some way to go.
A very happy Christmas to one and all.