Frost

Frost

In one night from squelchland to crisp-under-foot. Yesterday’s mud is now hard ridges of earth. The all embracing cloud and mist has given way to a piercing brightness from a winter sun floating just above the mountains. The lake water is absurdly blue reflecting the sky and between the two, Mynydd Mawr, Snowdon and the Nantlle Ridge, all dressed in the most pure white. As the sun grew stronger slowly the crispness withered. Squelchland returned – but frost lies waiting in the late afternoon sky.

Trigonos 11 December

RG