Driving North (a diary entry)

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Driving north, and the landscape is changing. What had been subtle, at first, rolling green hills and one lane roads lined with tall, brambly, hedgerows, winding through the gentle english countryside and bridging the distances between sleepy villages festively decorated with blinking fairy lights, patterns of smoke rising from stone buildings and their crooked chimneys, shifts, slowly, gradually. The colours, emerald and pastel greens, yellows and browns, begin to change. First, winter fern and it’s fiery reds, dusting the rocky tops of the hills that grow ever taller and taller, as we drive further. Then, the first signs of snow, powdery snow-tinged mountains now peeking through the gaps between clouds. Green and red and white, summer, autumn, winter. The clouds are a shade darker now, too, deep grey and ominous.

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