A few days ago, it began as a powdering on the hills.
The standing stone in a nearby field was transformed into an Easter Island statue, with the bonfire blaze of the notafagi behind it.
The dogs were delighted by the first snow of the season, as dogs always are.
In the woods, the bracken was dusted with icing sugar.
Our wee lochan is frozen over again: it seems no time at all since it was frozen solid from December to March last winter.
More snow on Friday night gave us enough for toboganning in the garden on Saturday. We were not the only creatures to have been there: a pheasant has left his distinctive tracks across the garden path. ‘He went thataway!’ The arrows mislead the pursuer, pointing away from the route of the bird.
One little crab apple glows bravely against the snow, determined that it is really still the end of autumn and not – as all the evidence of the weather would suggest – the beginning of another winter.