Winter Fall

 A fortnight ago it was still looking pretty autumnal.

The temperatures were mild, and the trees and brambles were still hanging onto the last of their brilliant leaves. 

As for the field maples, they were largely magnificent. 

Until the recent dip in temperature, there were also a few flowers and fungi about.

slimy slug and meadow waxcap; dandelion clock weary of dew; dog vomit slime mould; greater burnet saxifrage in flower; an escapee nasturtium sending up a desperate last flare; another waxcap hiding in a hidey-hole; red dead nettle in flower; parrot waxcaps

The days being (almost) at their shortest, some walks - particularly on Fridays, when I have fixed work/commitments - have been getting very dusky, and in fact on Mondays and Tuesdays, they're solely undertaken by the Northerner, as I spend every daylight hour in a dark little office. Even in the middle of the day I don't feel quite as safe walking on my own with Cwtch as I used to with Ted, who wouldn't have let anyone come within half a mile of me, and I'm very much looking forward to Solstice and the gradual return of the light. 

The construction of Brabazon is continuing, though we haven't been to the fields on the far side of Fishpool Hill lately to take a look. We don't need to - things are happening at the end of Charlton Road too.

It was the first day of December, and therefore winter, before autumn remembered some of its more seasonal characteristics and laid on some fog ... 

... followed by four beautiful days of frost. 

From the golden path of fallen ash leaves to the silver path of frost

The plume of steam is from Seabank Power Station at Hallen Marsh.

Cwtch feeling the drunkenness of things being various

Looking over to the railway cutting

Skyscrapers of ice

And then, this morning, winter came into its own and we awoke early to snow, I postponed my drive to Brighton to deliver presents till rather warmer weather and went for a walk instead, first around the field.  

 

And then, as no one would be playing golf in the snow, we decided to go off piste over the golf course, and for a while we had it to ourselves, all apart from a fox who's in this photo but to  tiny to make out. 

By about quarter to nine other people with the same idea started arriving, and it felt like it did during lockdown: a vague camaraderie as we re-took possession of Fairyland.

A bramble filching from the Northerner his bonnet