A biting north wind was blowing today. It was so refreshing to feel cold. The hills were covered with a thin layer of snow, not much thicker than a heavy frost. All along the top lane the early morning sunshine bounced off ice-covered puddles.
An area of woodland has been fenced off after the storm of last week and peering over the wall I could see many trees at an angle to the other trunks, great tall trunks of pine, the whole effect was like an open weave tapestry.
The sheep on the common land above the lane were set against the snow like a Joseph Farquharson painting. Some of them looked dumbfounded at what this cold white stuff could be.
I ran along the bottom of The Pike taking care over the icy patches, sometimes taking to the narrow grass verge for better traction, then walked back through the grounds of a long-demolished house that had once belonged to Lord Leverhulme.
The grounds are extensive and modelled on ancient Chinese gardens, or possibly Japanese, nobody seems sure on this point. They are planted up with all manner of non-native plants that were popular in Victorian times and even now the old borders glow pink and claret with Pernettya berries.
The local park wardens have hacked back the Rhododendron, which are a legacy from that Victorian planting. Every few years they are razed to the ground to reveal the stonework beneath and what magnificent stonework it is. Beautifully appointed follies, cascading waterfalls and hidden grottos are all built out of the local millstone grit and look so much part of the land that it is hard to remember that they are a contrived landscape.
I left the icy stillness of the gardens and wended my way back home only stopping to watch the motorway which, because the wind was from the north and not the west as it usually is, is playing out in the distance like some silent movie as people hurry, each to their various workplaces.
