I don't do cold . . .

Another bitterly cold totally frosty morning out there.  I still haven't warmed up since I went out at barely light to top up the bird feeders, as we were back after dark last night and no point in doing them then.  The birds are queuing up in the apple tree above the front feeders, and I have counted 20 blackbirds making the most of the fallen apples which were surplus to requirements but perfect for keeping them alive in such bitter weather.

We spent yesterday doing our monthly stint at Llandovery Antiques where we man the fort for a day in return for a reduction in rent, as do the other traders there.  It was NOT warm, despite heaters, and we could see our breath all day . . .

I went out for a walk, just up to the bridge over the River Towy, and this bit which was in the shade never thawed at all.  As we were driving home, the headlights showed a glittering frost already on the verges and the weedy strips down our narrow one-track lanes.

The view upstream.  Llyn Brianne reservoir, which we visited recently, is behind these range of hills (though a fair few miles beyond them).

The stump of a tree which, from memory, is something like 8 or 900 years old.  Now a home for various brambles, ivy, moss etc.

View of the church across the fields.  Now that the Fieldfares and Redwings are here, I dare say the berries on that Hawthorn will soon be gone.

One last view.

Now my husband has got a tablet to use, this has freed up the Kindle and at last I can start to read the books I have downloaded to it.  I got two new ones this week - a Phil Rickman I hadn't come across before : The Cold Calling, and the first of Ann Cleeve's Shetland novels, Raven Black.  The Phil Rickman is unputdownable of course . . .