joy

The light in your eyes is never more than a thought away

It's 9am. The fields are white with frost. Yesterday's wet muddy footprints fossilised in time until the great winter bauble of fire rises a little higher in the sky. The skies are blue, the sea a lake of glass and the last of the leaves lie on the ground patterned pretty with frost. 

I see her coming over a little mound in the distance. A colourful woolen hat upon her head, a pole in either hand, and a little terrier dog by her side.