Slip sliding into town with the non-grip tyres. The usual grimaces as the snow fluctuates and coat collars tuck round any remaining visible skin. A rawness for only the rough to endure to bring in the necessary provisions.
Back home, just, calmness from the chill. A tranquility for all seasons but winter in particular. Frozen paths dug out from the snow direct you to your chores. No freedom of movement. A sense of frustration as this is all late and March is tomorrow when other work had been planned to take place. The hens are temporarily in the old henhouse, a warmer site but in the way of wood and cats. Only the outdoor toilet is a distance away from the front door now. The trip to the loo is now a journey in these conditions to it's far outpost. But a warm seat awaits if you wait for your wife to go first!