Snow arrived last night in our part of France. It came in a quick heavy flurry and this morning had been joined by a dense mist. We strode out to take photographs. It was like shooting a reel of Ilford monochrome film. Only the téléscopique, inactive as the workmen mixed another batch of cement, injected any colour into the views. Small birds – tits and the like - that we rarely see close to the house, picked at tree bark, trying to get our attention like shy girls in a bar.
The snow melted soon enough. The fields are already regaining their colour. To stand in a copse of douglas firs, hoping for some strong sunlight to fall on a calendar view, was to get a thorough soaking.
