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Message: <blockquote data-quote="halftwo" data-source="post: 1676562" data-attributes="member: 45720">Snow, Snow, Snow.Arctic air has dumped a variety of snow here all day. And now: treacherous roads with ice and slush, and fresh snow on top. One car, having come down the hill had failed to turn at the canal bridge, remains embedded in the huge stone blocks at the  end.The dead sheep is now more relaxed: its feet now rest on the field. A Crow has begun making tentative tugs to reach the feast beneath the fleece.The sky continues to fall in greys - dull and cold, dank and dismal. And the fields, though patchily, are dressed in white. The sun scrapes along the horizon, occasionally pushing through the mush of cloud to beam orange rays and light the world, then becomes swallowed again, and the snow falls once more.Under the hedge's shelter a dozen Grey partridge hunch - clods of earth above the white - barely moving, yet pecking. Opposite a few Lapwings stride amongst Starlings which run and probe, backs to the blow. But one of the flock is another: cryptic markings redundant in the fallen snow; it raises its head and withdraws a long bill from the turf: Snipe. Further, and a Chaffinch feeding under the hedge has company: a Great-spotted woodpecker rises and bounds to a conifer. Around the corner along the roadside ditch I put up two more Snipe - snow uplighting their pale bellies - they fly with dipped bills, reluctant to leave their unfrozen strip.Somewhere a Golden plover calls - its whistle blown to swirl and fade in other flakes filling the world. The Pied wagtails and Meadow pipits are still on their patch of field - still picking at specks, still skittering and flicking. Suddenly a flock of Skylark come up from the stubble as does everything else: a large Lapwing flock bunches and rises in an undulating line. But the cause of the panic remains unseen: somewhere a Peregrine is hunting the frigid sky - as snow falls again.</blockquote>

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