Chilling out

Here's a record I'm not keen to break any time soon.

Wintery forest

I don't tire of the scenery in the forest. Every season brings its own subtle charm. Winter is clean. White. Brisk. Bright. Soft. Fresh. But dead. The snow stays on all but the highest parts of the trees as the sun never touches the rest of them, rising lazily at 9am or later, with sunrise and sunset merging together. Those branches lucky enough to see the sun in the middle of the day reveal their fine fingers, tickling the blue sky.

As the sun goes down it paints the frosted trees pink, softening the blow that, yes, that was it - that was the day!