Mist over Windermere, snow on the fells Snow on sunlit fells, a layer of mist lies over the waters of Windermere, rising and dispersing as we watch. There's a frosty pallor over icy floodwaters in the Lyth Valley. The morning has a wonderful clarity.
In January, the position of the sun in the sky gives the light a distinct quality and frost has come suddenly after a month of rain. By the time we return to Helsington Church cumulous cloud has bubbled up and clarity is gone. Fieldfare are calling in the crowns of trees and the sun shows their colours.
In January, the position of the sun in the sky gives the light a distinct quality and frost has come suddenly after a month of rain. By the time we return to Helsington Church cumulous cloud has bubbled up and clarity is gone. Fieldfare are calling in the crowns of trees and the sun shows their colours.
A month ago we were here on another bright and frosty morning but the quality of this January day is different and you never know what the highlights will be. That the thrill. In the orchard where we found fieldfare there are only a few windfalls on frosty grass and blackbirds feeding. We linger beside a flooded pasture where ice has frozen opaque in ruts made by a tractor and frosted grass spikes through the sheet of ice over floodwater. It is ordinary and enchanting.
We lingered long to admire pattern and colour, the beauty of the scene. Beyond the icy floodwater there's an open gate and the sun picks it out, inviting us toward 'the road not taken'.
We lingered long to admire pattern and colour, the beauty of the scene. Beyond the icy floodwater there's an open gate and the sun picks it out, inviting us toward 'the road not taken'.
When we return the light has changed and we stop once again to wonder at the loveliness of the scene. I hear fieldfare in the tops of the trees and go closer but cannot see them. I can hear icy water running in the beck culverted beneath our track. Frost lingers all day but the sun warms us.
The rowan I've photographed through autumn and winter is now bare, its rich crop of berries eaten by the resident bullfinch we hear calling. This is the hungry-gap when birds struggle to find food. But we hear various birds along our way: blackbird and jay in the orchard, fieldfare, redwing and starling. Then we find a tree with mossy branches where a small flock of long-tailed tits are moving through and nuthatch forage in the moss. All morning, I've heard nuthatch.
A month of rain and nothing for a naturalist to write about, well nothing inspirational. Now everything comes in a flurry and there's a sense of spring not far off.
A month of rain and nothing for a naturalist to write about, well nothing inspirational. Now everything comes in a flurry and there's a sense of spring not far off.
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