Snow Falling On Pine Trees

As Britain shivers and slides under the weight of a week's worth of snow, we here in La Belle France have been waiting for the same thing to arrive here... but it refused to do much until last night...

So this morning me and Mrs P went off for a raquette up towards the Bonne Eau, in the silence of snow falling on pines trees. The VW slid up the road through the small village of Trossy and close to the Relais de la Chevrette we parked up having scattered a large group of dummies who all stood about the snow covered car park watching as we approached and despite our signalling, made no move to get out of our way. A smart application of hand upon klaxon soon got them grabbing at their day packs and they shifted. It is interesting to my mind that once people get out of their cars they soon forget to think in the manner of a motorist. And vice versa. A slippery slope that needs a certain amount of traction and speed in equal measure to mount, just becomes a place to dump walking poles and snow shoes.

I wasn't as depressed as much as I could have been given England's lacklustre performance against a woeful Italy in the previous day's rugby match at HQ. I was buoyed by the cracker of a game between Ireland and France in Dublin. I wish I had been there. I wished my Mum might have been in the emerald isle at the time she had me. But no, she'd been in London.

The snowed fell steadily, softly, silently and seemed at times to resist the gravitational pull in a futile attempt to stay air bound. But with each flake falling the depth of powder snow increased as we trudged (a damnable word) upwards through the silent woods along a track made not long before by other raquetters .

Past the stream flowing down from the Dent d'Oche, and across to the chalets en route for the Bonne Eau, where an ancient luge, or sled rested against a barn, and upward through the trees heavy with fresh snow absorbing all sound.

At the Bonne Eau,