This evening I walked under a sky full of stars. The wind was wailing in the branches, and yet it was not cold. The starlight was just bright enough to walk by, reflecting very slightly from the wet road surface, and outlining the craggy black shapes of bare oak trees against the sky. In the East, the bulk of Dartmoor looming darkly against the stars would look much more menacing if it was not topped by a giant mobile phone mast, cheerfully illuminated with four huge red lights. By day, the river valley looks very quiet and wooded, but at night you can see the yellow lights of the houses that hide among the trees: surprisingly more of them than I expect.
And now the year is on the turn, and the bulbs are thrusting up their heads and the primroses starting into flower already. If winter is on his way, I hope he hurries up before the spring gets into its swing.