It felt like the coldest morning of the year so far, the first tangible frost that I had seen. Icy white dust clung to the most delicate hairs on the nettle leaves. The dark leaf chard on our plot (now under protective netting) cased in a cold white shell. The sun was rising from behind the perimeter trees, it’s warm spectral fingers melting all it touched, turning the frost to steam, leaving it to smolder like a field of burnt out stubble on a summer evening.
The fingers of light moved quickly, the hands of a clock ticking out time over the allotments. Brilliantly illuminating the feathery fronds of asparagus, and in a minute gone, to light the frozen droplets of dew on an apple tree. I followed the light round the allotments, enjoying the fleeting show.
14 11 2012