A pigeon has found an ideal place to roost and refuses to move even when I approach.

in the deep shadow the cold is still biting. This contrast leads to a sort of photographic image on the path of the posts and rails where the white frost transitions abruptly.

The low rays of the early sun pick out the tops of the flats beyond the pine tops in pink and yellow. The contrast wth the dark green of the pines is startling and magical drawing the watcher into strange, mysterious nooks and crannies in reality.

Where there are puddles they are sheeted over with thick ice that groans and creaks underfoot until it snaps and shatters satisfyingly.

The remains of the overnight sleety snow has formed large icy crystals over the grass and in the hollows.

The sky is clear and cold blue except for slabs of battleship grey cloud out across the bay hiding the early sun.

A drizzle of applause and then on encore the wind dies down and the sky lightens.

The air is as sharp as a sushi chef’s knife. The sea wrinkles and shivers at the cold.

The trees loom out of the mist and drip water onto the passer-by.

The way through the woods appears strange and somehow alien.

Everything looks gaunt and unfinished.

The sun peers weakly from between the bubbles and pillows of grey cloud. But there is a pale blue sky up there somewhere and there is occasional warmth.

The walkers add a particular glow to the day.

The wind lifts the spray from the seething waves up onto the cliff top in a fine mist.

A fresh, crisp morning, the sun slanting through the trees.

From time to time, the sun breaks through and creates a polished puddle on the bay.

Seagulls veer in and out of the seascape adding a dot here or a quick pencil mark there.

Looking forward to a day on the beach

A gentle breeze. The sun is warm. Two pigeons swoop low overhead.

Under a grey sky, the waves are also boisterous but the beach is filled with crowds disporting themselves along the flat sand.