We are now well into our eighth day of snow; a thaw is promised but today the postman warns of black ice on all the approach roads to the village. Normal routines have been suspended for some, unless you happen to be farmers, like my neighbours, but new routines quickly take their place.
The dogs are now used to racing round in the garden in the mornings rather than going down the steep hill to the woods - the single track lane is far too perilous. But in the afternoons, their harnesses go on, I put grippers on my boots, and we set off up the hill to the fields, which lie under nine inches of snow.
Each day, the snow deepens and the light changes; sometimes the sheep are a just hazy line in the mist; yesterday there was sunshine. Today, grey skies.
Beautiful. Harsh. And to the dogs, just one big playground.