A Winter's Walk
By Paul Andrews
7 Jan 2010
I love wrapping up warm and wandering out into crisp sunny frosty mornings to discover the shimmering fragile frostiness of winter. On this occasion it was in a small village in the depths of rural Cumbria (for the non-UK audience it is North West England - a region of incredible beauty and the home of The Lakes - much beloved of the Romantic Poets and the likes of Ruskin).
The sun was not far into the sky so the angles the photons were coming in at were fantastic - picking up the little twigs and the barbed wire encrusted with crystals of frost. The stream, five minutes walk from the house, was in full flow and the sun must have had sufficient heat in it to cause a veil of swirling steam to form above the surface of the water - it was truly enchanting. Mossy fronds were frozen as they picked up droplets of water, encapsulating them in stiff water tombs as the chilled water rushed along below. The snow was a little old and crisp which gave a satisfying crunch with each step. The snow boulders heaped at the side of the road from the efforts of the snow plough were tranformable into dangerous flying objects - as my two boys found out...but no children were hurt in the making of the "Duck" image, thankfully. I chose the barbed wire image as the main photo because it felt like it symbolised the world as I was experiencing it. Steely, crisp, angular, encased, enveloped, restrained, prickly, sharp - and after the gloves had been off for a few minutes pretty painful!