Intermission: More Hoar

Just some more winter photos

Poplars

This winter wonderland outside my door seems to have created a temporary desire in me to become a photographer. It makes a change from words. I was out again this morning on my land with the camera. There is hoarfrost covering everything, and each night it thickens as the temperate plummets.

Hoar is an Anglo-Saxon word, with the same derivation as hair. You can see why. Gaze out over the fields and hedges around here and it’s like a meeting of ancient white-haired sages has gathered for some mysterious purpose under the astonishing blue sky of morning:

This is hoarfrost at close range:

When the fox moves through it at night, you can follow him home in the morning:

The rook, of course, can see all from up there:

And the hare has a good view from the border of the flower garden:

More from the land and its surroundings:

Norway Spruce, fading out

Bridge, stream, ash

Scots Pine in winter

View from the window

Never leave water in a wheelbarrow

Wintercession

It will all be thawing at the weekend, so we’re told. I’ll miss it.

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