A Frosted Fishy Tale

Well the big freeze continues.  Winter 2025 has been pretty forthcoming when it comes to evocative, atmospheric weather conditions.  After the mists of Christmas, we're now shivering in sub zero temperatures with an apparent permafrost!

I've been adding more layers when venturing with old and new technology working in harmony to keep me toasty - a vintage sheepskin coat layered over one of those slug-like long line padded zip up gillets.  If my core is warm, then my fingers stand a change against the elements.  Obviously gloves are a little pointless when I'm carrying a camera and the fingerless ones don't really cut it.

I captured yesterday's frost and got a little creative with the photos (one example below).  I'm finding winter increasingly inspiring and decided to place an order for a print of each photo in a gorgeous lustre finish as I have some spare frames knocking around. 

Today's walk was short and sweet and I'm totally guilt free about it!  I've hibernated all afternoon, thankful that I have nowhere I need to be.  

Here's the morning sun poking through the clouds above the hedge.

It was an effort to wean myself off black and white for frosty photos...but I managed it.

Check out these brush strokes in the sky.

A load of hot air!

Out onto the fringes, the fields were awash with that tell tale frosted sage green watercolour.

I love a sun spot!

Finally, I couldn't resist a return to black and white.  That's Wordsley Church in the distance where my parents and numerous friends and relatives exchanged their vows - and where I was christened.  

Now.  Here's a challenge for you...our latest bargain acquisition which is now sitting on the other side of the fireplace, staring back at the gurgle jug.

It's very heavy and hand blown amber glass.  I've investigated and am aware that numerous glass manufacturers have produced fish glass vases, including Blenko, Sowerby, Libbey, Bagley and the Murino, but I can't find anything resembling this one.  I found its twin online, described as 1970s, but sadly sold some time ago, so I have no further clues.  Anyone?

I met up with Clare, my most recent client, to hand over her photos stored on a keepsake memory stick) in person and we had a catch up over wine and coffee.  Clare handed me the most thoughtful Thank You note, tied up with a ribbon of excess material from her dress.  

I'll be sharing more from Clare's wedding day in my next purpose built post.  

In the meantime, my Polaroid obsession continues and there are certain Birthday celebrations to be had! See you soon!

First Snow

Surprise!  Snow was in the forecast, but we weren't expecting it as far south as the Midlands.  This is the first time we've had snow in November since 2010, but after weeks of gloom, I was happy that something was happening!  

I grabbed my camera, layered up, laced up my boots and headed into the garden and beyond.

Hydrangea is the gift that keeps on giving; beautiful in every season and especially now, with its transitioning blooms encrusted with ice crystals.

Further up the garden, the pine needles were glistening and bejewelled.

With Christmas closing in, the holly was on point.

Through the garden gate, the dying foliage clung to life under the virgin snow.  I didn't see another soul; the silence only broken by the muffled sounds of my footsteps and chunks of snow falling onto the ground around me (and a little down the back of my neck), disturbed by racing squirrels and landing birds.

I headed up onto the ridge.  Usually, by the time the snow arrives, it's January and the leaves have long since lost their autumn colours, leaving behind smudgy pathways blackened by mud and decay.  Today it looked magical!   

I barely noticed the cold.  Nature's awesome.  These photos were taken less than 3 minutes' walk from my garden gate and to seemingly have it all to myself made me feel very thankful and helped soften the blow of being forced to cancel plans to meet up with a friend today. 

On the way back down, I paused to capture the snow falling against suburban backdrops.

Leaving you with a short highlights video.  Stay cosy!  

First Snow of 2024

Life in the Shadows

We're experiencing an unseasonably cold spell here in the UK, with daytime temperatures barely reaching 3 degrees and overnight temperatures hitting minus 5.  We Brits are a little obsessed with weather.  It's a sport.  We love to watch the forecast and then complain when the Met Office get it wrong.  I realise that 3 degree daytime temperatures don't really amount to a whole lot of inconvenience to inhabitants of colder climes, no doubt stoically fitting their snow tyres at midday in minus 12 as I type, but after a particularly mild Autumn for this islander, the transition felt sudden and brutal.  

However, I am secretly enjoying it.  I do not welcome battling to unfreeze the car door, scrape the windscreen or navigate early morning ungritted minor roads...

...but there's something reassuring about the heralding in of a new season and in particular, a clear distinction in seasons....and don't you find waking to early morning moonlight...

...long shadows, filtered sunlight, fiery skies and crystalline landscapes just a tiny bit magical?  I do. 

I love that the Norsemen of Northern Europe saw the sun as a wheel that changed the seasons.  It was from the word for this wheel, houl, that the word yule is thought to have originated. 

Through forge-red light, my eyes pick out the lay of the land, 

Shadowy, obsidian contours etched into an ash dusted landscape.

Smoke and steam swirls abound.

Nature emulating industry, 

Churning out, strategising, preparing ground, 

For the next turn of the wheel and fleet footed seasonal shift into winter's hostile grip.

In the UK, we always associate Christmas with snow and ice, courtesy of influences from Christina Rossetti's In the Bleak Midwinter to Charles Dickens and the London Frost Fayres.  A good example of the power of literature.  I find this season truly special.  Still not convinced?  

Here are some photos from yesterday's ground frost in the garden.  It's still with us in fact.  

Spending time indoors also stimulates creativity.  On drawing the curtains the other evening, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and quite liked the slight distortion the window panes created.  I had also been staring at the branches of our silver birch tree outside, illuminated by moonlight and decided to try and capture this natural "double exposure" effect.  The first effort created muted tones and a slightly ghostly self portrait.

The second, captured a hint of the moonlit branches, bringing the outside in and adding a scarring effect to the image.

Maybe I've been spending too long inside.  It's quite possibly I'm unravelling.  Who knows?

For the record, there have been plenty of outings, but I'll save those for next time as we gain ground on Christmas.

 

Winter Solstice

It's been a pretty uninspiring week with little in the way of light.  For some unknown reason, I've been regularly putting pen to paper in recent months; jotting down words, phrases and ideas, even having a notebook and pen by my bedside for those nights when sleep doesn't come easy.  This is something I haven't done since my student days when I would scribble reminders to look at other notes!  

So with the the shortest day approaching and winter making its presence felt, I thought I might share with you some wintry photos and accompanying free verse.

Colours drain from view

Forming ice white sheets below our feet

Expanding and contracting,

Revealing long scars and tall, black shadows

Cast by silent ancient trees; gnarled and twisted

From taking bitter air into ancient lungs

Over and over and over again.

A pregnant pause before the longing starts

For that prickly pleasure

Of sunbeams and saltwater 

Dancing on porcelain skin

For the cacophony of crows and crickets

For the soothsayer's promise of summer's gentle sway

But for now, all is still

We're shuttered and buttoned down

And life exists in unforgiving, short lived light

Still, there are magical moments;

The woolly, deadened sound of footfall on virgin snow

Tanzanite skies

And moondust mornings.

Bracing walks to remind us we're alive, 

Buds breaking through from some dark abyss

As we limp towards the thaw.

Of all our constant companions,

Wintertide harbours secrets,

Delights in mystery;

Only showing its hand when we're firmly in its grip...

Only truly letting go when we learn to slide.

***

Wishing you a wonderful week!  I look forward to hearing your news and thank you for stopping by.