Frost on Weeds


Following my last post re bright sunny days interrupted by cold nights in which temperatures plunge to 5 degrees, it’s now properly wintry. Some days look nice through the window, but they are not. The wind, hurtling along the gorge and sending the TV aerial into a spin (the one channel is unreachable), has ice in it. Above us, the Sierra de Grazalema peaks are covered in snow, as are the mountains beyond Ronda.

Actually, that’s what I’ve been told. Aside from slinging some food out for the cats, I’m staying inside, thanks very much, working, within arm’s length of a fire, wearing so many layers I can barely bend my arms, and a blanket sarong which makes walking difficult. Not that I want to go anywhere. Can I type in gloves? Following a work trip to Siberia (hey, thanks guys!), I was able to put a lot of the kit to good use during winters on the North York Moors, none more so than the silk glove liners, in which, after persisting doggedly, I was eventually able to write features which were moª¶re orr ;lss feadab;e. That’s ‘more or less readable’ (I was trying again).

Night time temperatures are now well below freezing. Until about 11am, there’s ice in the wheelbarrow, a bit of ice on the inside of the windows, and a thick coating of frost on the olives and wild weeds. Most strange of all, for a couple of hours first thing, the world appears muted and misty. All in all not normal, although it’s a fact that wherever humans live, winter seems to take us by surprise.


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