The house across the road has a pure white, thickly frosted roof. My first thought is “Hey, good loft insulation”, my second thought is that with the council’s hastily fairylightened tree looming large between us it does actually look a bit like a wee Christmas card scene. And is accordingly quite nice. Holly is of course unmoved by this, concentrating instead on the secret conversations she has with Mr Panda. I’m being increasingly overlooked in favour of a stuffed toy. Them’s the breaks.
The warm sunlit ascents and cool clear nights of the trips earlier in the year seem a distant memory. It’ll be cold fingers making the cuppa and frozen breath caught in a headtorch beam obscuring the view from now on. Pitching in the dark and frozen footwear in the morning.
Seasons, what an invention. Keeps you on your toes, sorts the wheat from the chaff.