East Anglia has been under a cloud the last week or two – endless, unremitting grey skies and drizzle ranging to snow. There was only one sunny weekend day recently and I dropped everything to get outside. It was so beautiful I have to share.
The morning sun shone right through the flint church at Whaddon.
The sky was that peculiarly icy blue of the English winter, and there was a thin wind with a breath of Siberia. It’s the tail end of a cold, wet winter and apart from the winter wheat and the sky, everything is brown and buff.
The sun is always low in the sky, and I love those sideways washes of light making everything look like the perfect still life.
This is prime sloe territory in Autumn, but now the blackthorn branches are stark against the sky and all the berries have been eaten or soused in gin by now.
But you can tell the year is turning – there are buds everywhere.
The sky that day was utterly cloudless.
OK, maybe one or two whisps
It’s freezing, and snowing again today, but in my garden there are already snowdrops. Somehow or other, spring will happen even if it still feels a long way off every time I stick my nose out of doors. Time for another log on the fire.
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the correct spelling is WISPS, not whisps, as in clouds.