Three weeks since was a cold spell that extended over a few days leaving steadily less frost on the morning car as the atmosphere ran out of moisture. Nights skies were a pierced umbrella with Venus brightest and the new moon was earth-lit. Early morning light glittered off frosted surfaces, bearing little enough heat to melt them. Skies stretched between morning and late afternoon greys through all the pale blues, just darker than baby blue at noon.
Then came dampness; pooling in the Forest, misting across the plains and fogging in the shelter of tree-lined avenues. Through occasionally thin cloud, when it could be seen directly at all, the moon rose to fullness and then set to wane again as its visiting hours were moved to morning.
Last night, Venus was up again until the wispy vapour thickened enough to hide her and our second named storm of winter played amongst the bare boughs of oak and beech, shaking harder the evergreens; fir and holly. Rain fell in sheets that accompanied the night's soundtrack of whispers and vortical moans; windows and gates shook.
The Forest's beauty is muted by the light and cloud; the palette softened and compressed to heavy shades dominated by browns.
The shortest day is upon us.
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