Something strange happens to my mood when it snows. I get euphoric. I sing, I babble happily, it's as if I have drunk a glass of champagne. Maybe it's something to do with the way the ions in the air are charged. It's the opposite to the way I feel in a thunderstorm, which is depressed, lethargic and headachy. Today, I was delighted to see big, fat, feathery flakes floating down. It was as if God had ripped his goose down duvet.
Every time I find a feather in the garden, I stick it in this pot, until it either becomes too tatty, or blows away. I found this one yesterday. I think feathers are a miracle of design. I can never resist stroking them and admiring the delicacy of their fronds and wondering how it would feel to be a bird, with nothing but these holding you up and keeping you in the air. Earlier, a magpie swooped off the roof, down past the window, and I was able to see the marvellous spread of its tail feathers in close-up, irridescent blue-green.
Now I must get on with the book. I shall add today's word total later.
7 pm. Word total 27,516.
Projected wine total - half a bottle!
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