Frost-Belle Forests

Those winter mornings when the land wakes glazed and the landscape is frozen, light reigns supreme. In pastel pinks and wintry blues it starts to paint hills dusted with powder white shards of ice and fields spiked with stiff, hard meadow-grass. On a dry-stone wall, against a warming sky, a silhouetted secret agents goes about his business of hunting. In the woods, shed leaves now crack under our steps and our eyes water in the stinging cold. Birds are hungry and flock together to find food, shedding their shyness in favour of finding seeds where they wouldn’t usually approach. Robins fluff their feathers on top of poles decorated by the season and perched on a silver birch branch sits the tawny owl, framed by frosted twigs in a diamond contraption while the melting ice starts thawing with bell-like sound under the waxing sun.