With midwinter just a day away, I walk to the Gate of the Wood, where the same two trees flank an old stone style – their buttress roots, black-barked and banked with snow.

I stay just briefly; then retrace my steps.
No sun, no fading brightness at my back.
Just a curving track, flanked by dark trunks.
Dry sleet blowing through the trees.
Grey fuzz of woody tops against the sky

A fire at home – but still some way to go.

A very happy Christmas to one and all.