The snow has turned to slush, that most dreaded of underfoot conditions. Yet there are small patches of white clinging to the bushes and peppering the fields.
The morning light is cold and thin, leaving everything dull and flat.
Yet there is still a stark beauty at play, a clean harshness that I find attractive. It’s similar to those magazine shots of a white room, minimally decorated. It speaks of open places, clean slates, blank canvases.
It is a bit of a bugger to drive in though.