The bitter weather in December gave us winter landscapes we haven’t seen lately. When the maples along Newtown Road finally gave up their leaves in the wan sunshine they were like a scatter of falling gold coins. On the first morning of hard frost, leaves fell like rain, and, because many were frosted, they gained an unusual heaviness. Those flitting through the canopy of oaks gave the impression of tiny birds. The leaves of hazel and bramble were often outlined by a lovely rim of white, while overhanging oak leaves sprouted beards of ice crystals.
Soon all the vegetation down by the river was thickly rimed with frost. Grass was transformed into slender feathers by a pure-white furring of needle-like crystals. Those on fence-wire were more like a chain of tiny cubes, like stacked glasses, ending with a sharp bristle of ice. The wood on the hill took on the absence of colour that artists call grisaille – a blurry darkness highlighted with white from the freezing mist. Walking, well-insulated through this frozen landscape, with the low December light forming haloes around the fence-posts, was a wondrous experience. But one felt for life that had to live through it and endure the bitter night – the agonised ‘tick’ of wrens and the dull cronk of a raven overhead said it all. And instead of snow it rained tiny pellets of ice, like pearls. Was it too cold for snow?
Come the spring, a group of us are hoping to form a Ramsbury Wildlife Group, if there is sufficient local support. There are details in January’s Whitton Ways. We think it could be an opportunity to appreciate, and indeed celebrate, the remarkable wildlife of the village, and perhaps think of ways we can contribute to it. But more on that later!
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