Tuesday 09 February
The snow continued to fall in fits and starts today but it did so as the thaw began. The latter with more urgency, and despite the bitterly cold temperatures, we are seeing the grass and the ground again.

So, another day working from home with the rest of the family, all of us marking out our own territorial spaces in the house. It went remarkably well, all considered.
But I am glad the snow is receding. Yes, it’s exciting to see it fall, especially at night, when you turn on the outdoor lights and see it flurried and settling. Even more so when you see the wind doing it’s thing and drifting the white stuff into extraordinary shapes.

But, after a short while (about a day in fact) it all becomes tiring. Not only because of all of the adjustments we have to make to our day-to-day lives. Which, by the way, are far from normal of course. But also because it’s an assault on the senses.
The sound is different, more muffled and quieter. There is less human and animal activity too. The birds continue to feed in large numbers but do so in silence; there is no noise from the trees or hedgerows. And some strange patterns in the snow, of creatures not used to this weather too.

It is brighter – dazzlingly so. Even at night, the carpet of white bounces around even the most insignificant of sources of light. Last night I was conscious of an eerie, numb, orange glow coming from outside. When I peeked outside the bedroom window I noticed that it was a single orange bulb coming from the water pump twenty metres away from the house.
But of course there is beauty in it all too. Especially, as I have discovered over the past year, if you look close enough. Today, I was inspired to try and take some pictures (using only my phone of course) of snow flakes. Yesterday, a member of the Gents Film and Leisure Club shared some amazing pictures his daughter had taken. They were nothing short of incredible really. So I had a go myself today, using my phone and a glove. Thank you, Isabel for letting me share your pictures.

