Navigating the ice and snow across the car park, we managed to get back out onto the road, and, although we were now facing away from home,the view that greeted us swept any thought of home from our minds. It was pure magic.
The narrow lane was pretty clear, but it ran through a fairytale forest. Squirrels darted across the road or stopped to drink the snow-melt. Every branch carried a delicate burden of snow. Every blade of grass, every seed-head, every twig highlighted in white against the shadows, or gilded by the morning sun.
The road led us past the bluebell woods that will create a haze of fragrant colour in spring, but for now, the air was redolent with pine and damp earth, and the colours were those of wood, ivy and the copper of old bracken.
I managed to find a place to pull over and, forgetting…
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