I'm sure snow was promised this weekend. I had envisaged branches weighed down with a small coat of down, frosty grass, crunchy snow underfoot and I hoped at least one of holly bushes around here would have retained some berries that would sparkle in the winter fairy dust. It's cold, very cold but I haven't spotted a flake yet.
In lieu of the winter wonderland I’d hoped for I caught the last golden vestiges of the sun and a flock of spooked birds flying over the River Thames. Maybe it will snow tomorrow, it feels cold enough.
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