Less than two weeks to Christmas now, and suddenly I’m feeling the winter. Skies have been clearer, the air crispier. Yesterday the frost lasted all day, the grass crunching just the tiniest bit under my foot, and from the shadowy corner of the University Park, I found a puddle of water frozen over. There are rumours that the New Year will be coldest in decades. I have struggled to find Christmas spirit (the past few weeks have been difficult in many ways, filled with stress and grief, but also with small moments of joy), and so I’m rather looking forward to January – a month I associate with cold sunlight and snowdrops, those first whispered promises of spring.
Winter in the southern England has certain lushness about it. It’s never so cold that all the nature would die, and so the grass will be green, the fields will grow winter crops, and through the dead leaves fresh shoots of cow parsley are already growing, defiantly.
All photos were taken with my trusty old MF 50mm lens; I still love the hazy, dreamy textures it creates.