Winter is a Season

The naked winter trees line the avenue. Our breath rises in visible puffs to join the darkened clouded night sky. There is a freezing chill in the air that brings crispness to the leaves, bejewelled with frost, that crunch underfoot. Rosy cheeked, we stamp to keep warm, pulling woollen hats over our reddened ears and tightening scarves over our blue-tinged lips. Teeth chatter and the cold seeps into our gloves numbing our fingers until they cease to bend properly, stiffened and frigid. Suddenly the warm light of the Annebrook House Hotel illuminates the avenue, welcoming us into it's warm and cosy surrounds and so we rest.