winter
With a week to go before we leave winter returns bringing to end the full cycle of spring, summer and spring since I have arrived. The winters in Weymouth are not usually severe. While the rest of the country comes to a stand still at the first sign of snow, it is the early morning frosts that mark winter here. In the morning as you step out side your senses know straight away it is winter. The feel of the crisp frosty air on your face; your breath visible in front of you; the sound of ice crunching under your feet; and the smell of wood smoke from the nearby hamlet. Gloves are a must as a strong northerly wind cuts through 4 layers of clothing.
Different seasons each have their own unique light and winter is no different as the sun hovers on the horizon, trying unsuccessfully to get itself in to the air. As a result, the light is muted and subdued. The sky is a light pastel of blues with sunrise and sunsets being infused with streaks of pale pinks and yellow. With the sun struggling to get up in the morning the daylight hours are restricted to just a few hours which you manage to see outside your window during lunchtime.
In the winter months, when the leaves have fallen, the landscape takes on a strange sleepy state with the bare silhouettes of the beech trees against a grey sky. The light gleaming from thousands of frozen drops on all the branches gives the countryside its own Christmas decorations. Hunting season is has started and the faint sounds of gun shots echo out across the valley.
Walking around the villages, towns and along the many paths there is no sign of the thousands of tourists and visitors that have descended on the place in summer. The peace and tranquillity encourages you to linger longer and explore but the cold pushes you to the nearest pub, preferably one with an open fire.
Different seasons each have their own unique light and winter is no different as the sun hovers on the horizon, trying unsuccessfully to get itself in to the air. As a result, the light is muted and subdued. The sky is a light pastel of blues with sunrise and sunsets being infused with streaks of pale pinks and yellow. With the sun struggling to get up in the morning the daylight hours are restricted to just a few hours which you manage to see outside your window during lunchtime.
In the winter months, when the leaves have fallen, the landscape takes on a strange sleepy state with the bare silhouettes of the beech trees against a grey sky. The light gleaming from thousands of frozen drops on all the branches gives the countryside its own Christmas decorations. Hunting season is has started and the faint sounds of gun shots echo out across the valley.
Walking around the villages, towns and along the many paths there is no sign of the thousands of tourists and visitors that have descended on the place in summer. The peace and tranquillity encourages you to linger longer and explore but the cold pushes you to the nearest pub, preferably one with an open fire.
It has been a great experience being able to see England in all its seasons. But, like the many birds that have decided to migrate for the winter, it is our time to join the flying birds on a path to warmer lands. I wonder if they have a nice cold beer waiting for them at the end of their journey?
3 comments:
You must be typing with an English accent, because as I read this and wipe the sentimental tears from my eyes, I keep hearing "Land of Hope and Glory" in my head, along with a picture of Tim Brooke-Taylor doing one of his speecehes in "The Goodies."
Now Hux, I really did have tears!! What stories they will have to share with you and Karen when back in Oz. Love to you and kids for Christmas and N.Y. from Jan and John
You should have been a writer Jim, love your blog. Have a Merry Christmas in the snow. Auntie Chris.xx
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