Bare Branches, Snow Clouds

A working afternoon. Spending two or three hours in the office at the desk or computer I am aware of the changes in light. This room has a south window and a westerly one, facing the Welsh hills, and the light changes both ways, fading from the one and thickening as the sun sets in the other. I have some medieval Christmas music playing downstairs, filling the darkening house with soft voices.

A sharp wind this afternoon, good enough for me to hope for a drying wind. I took a moment out from hanging the washing to look at the branches of the beech tree, now almost completely bare, and the fuzz of trees beyond the Moor cottages, on the Moor itself; alder, I think they are. Out briefly this morning to Leominster I saw the lying water on the Moor, old floodwaters or risings from the ground; the water lay in snake lines between rushes and reedbeds, and was glinting in the light.

The wind is driving a bank of cloud from the Welsh hills. It is cold enough to snow this afternoon so I will keep an eye on that cloud; a lilac wall topped with a beer's froth of white where the sun is catching it. A wall that is rising quite quickly; we can usually see how the weather is advancing from Wales by the landmarks it obliterates. The cloud is spreading northwards as well.

We had planned to go to the Presteigne Christmas Fair this afternoon. The streets will be closed and stalls, fire-eaters, trees, hot food and Santa are promised. But we cannot go; without the car I am delightfully marooned apart from walking. So I will light the fire and some candles and be there in spirit.