The frost was thicker than ever as we left this morning. Water from the stream had been sucked up by the extreme cold of dawn and left on each blade of grass and each twig. They were thickly crusted, but the sun - itself still white with cold - had just risen above the hill and already the hedges and treetops were beginning to steam.
Chiffon coated the water in the valley bottom and above it the white Charolais calves stood with impassive mystery. This was the most beautiful morning of all the mornings this week. A millstream meandered between lines of poplar trees, creating ever stranger geometry as the sun gained confidence.
The weather this week has justified our decision to start out in winter. Each morning has begun cloudless in freezing air and each day has warmed to unseasonable sunshine. Two mornings ago as we set out into open farmland on top of the plateau, a farmer's wife, wearing four cardigans and boots at each corner of her skirt, waddled across to see the cows in to breakfast. The noise of dogs bounced harshly along the lanes and even though the sun quickly turned the frost to water, it needed only some chance coincidence of hillside, wood and barn to retain a wall of cold into which we slammed, as our feet suddenly stumbled again on the solid ruts of mud.
This countryside - the 'Pays de Bray' - is perfect for this weather. The huge skies above the slowly
decending plateaux make evey village spire sharp into the distances. We feel we can see almost to the sea, the air is so clear. Clear enough to out-stare two deer across an open field, before they race away.
12 February 2008
Chiffon coated the water in the valley bottom and above it the white Charolais calves stood with impassive mystery. This was the most beautiful morning of all the mornings this week. A millstream meandered between lines of poplar trees, creating ever stranger geometry as the sun gained confidence.
The weather this week has justified our decision to start out in winter. Each morning has begun cloudless in freezing air and each day has warmed to unseasonable sunshine. Two mornings ago as we set out into open farmland on top of the plateau, a farmer's wife, wearing four cardigans and boots at each corner of her skirt, waddled across to see the cows in to breakfast. The noise of dogs bounced harshly along the lanes and even though the sun quickly turned the frost to water, it needed only some chance coincidence of hillside, wood and barn to retain a wall of cold into which we slammed, as our feet suddenly stumbled again on the solid ruts of mud.
This countryside - the 'Pays de Bray' - is perfect for this weather. The huge skies above the slowly
decending plateaux make evey village spire sharp into the distances. We feel we can see almost to the sea, the air is so clear. Clear enough to out-stare two deer across an open field, before they race away.12 February 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment