December's Moods

A run of cool, wet days that have drained the landscape of colour.  A moment out of the busy day to stare into the woods, and they are universally grey, as if the remaining leaves have gone from greens to browns to greys.  The tree trunks were a pattern of brown-greys softening in the thin light to the same colour as the clouds.

I love this time of year. I don't know if I prefer the wild raw days of wind and sleet or the milder grey days of soft light, misty distances and silhouetted trees.  What gives December its magic is the contrast between the hot mad shops and the empty grey countryside; my familiar image of crowded shops and noisy pubs against the wind through a bare thorn hedge at dusk.  The supermarket this morning was half busy and the staff (in their antlers) were friendly and helpful, but the sheer weight of food for a fortnight made the work hot and difficult.   And yet, the cold wind in the bare hedges on the way home, the neat empty fields, the distant fuzz of woodland; beautiful.