Snow: reflections on landscape, chronicles, and a walk to church

Snow is more than transformative; it is transformation itself.*

Last weekend, just shy of the vernal equinox, we had the second significant snowfall of winter. I love snow. I love listening to it and can gaze out of the window for hours making myself dizzy watching it fall in clumps or blow round the streets in incredible arching swirls. Above all I love walking in it and the sensory experiences such activity induces, particularly the excitement of fresh snowfall rendering the familiar unfamiliar.

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Imagining places: women who don’t walk (at least not today)

I’ve failed again on the synchronised walking. At least in February I made it out of the door if not at the right time; this time the dreaded lurgy is keeping me indoors, so I’m peregrinating at the right time, just not physically. This isn’t as daft as it sounds and has sound historical precedents.

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