A Snowy Walk

The snow on the distant hills was tinged pink as the sun rose, this morning, but with the higher temperatures, the village snow was melting fast with the cheery plopping sound of water dripping from the house eaves as we walked along.

The wood smoke from cottages hunkered down at the end of hidden paths rose above the trees to mingle as a cloud in the still air.
The colours in the landscape were muted in hue, but vibrant against the palette of white in the background: the russet of bracken , the tan froth of the larch tree branches mingling with the dark green of the fir trees, the almost purple foliage of the silver beeches ramrod straight as from a scene from Eastern Europe, and the silvery green of grass tussocks appearing through the snow underneath our feet.

We walked along slushy paths following other people's footsteps, but passing no one and with only the soughing of the breeze in the trees for company, until we came to a seeming dead end. A bit of slipping down a slope with the River Dee too tantalisingly close, and we were on a track through heather until we reached the open road again.

Now later in the afternoon there is little snow left at ground level, the pavements are clear and the fence posts have lost their white caps. We should have a snow free run home tomorrow.