It has been a grey, dismal January and cold with it. Not walking or cycling weather really. But when the sun has made a rare appearance, we too have emerged blinking, like pale grubs. Shall we wander down this mossy path and climb up to the fields beyond? 
Dazzling blue skies and a trio of buzzards mewling as they surf the thermals. We head towards the estate farm and admire, yet again, the old stone barn which to my mind would make a marvellous studio.
Although the landscape is still bleak, the sun draws out rich hues and the clear, cold air sharpens outlines.
If you look closely, some foliage is 'warming up' as new bark and buds push through and amid the aqua greys and sombre tertiaries, bright mustards and warm pinks glow. Nestling in the roots of the bare hedgerows, tiny snowdrops shudder and tremble in the wind.
It is as if the seasons are poised on a cusp; there is, despite the chill, a feeling of anticipation and hope.
With the weather milder - but still dank and wintery - long walks are resumed. The kind of 'duty' walks taken with a stiff upper lip and the intention to get it all over with as soon as possible in order that one might return to a warm sofa, feeling virtuous of soul. Even the pretty village of Eastleach Turville seemed subdued as we started out. 
The river Leach runs through the centre of the village, clean and crystal clear. Behind the trees peeps the tower of one the two churches which sit almost side by side - therein hangs a tale for another day, it is too cold to stand around telling stories.
Sharp eyed Andy spotted a brown trout somehow, amid all the drab browns and greens of the flowing river.
Leaving the village and heading out to the field footpath.
Passing an unpicked orchard, the apples a cheerful brightness against the gloom.
This is one of the bleakest times of the year - not even the faint promise of spring to lift the heart.
The sheep are quiet and sluggish, streaming slowly away from us as we walk through the valley.
At last we reach our stopping point - this rather dull looking muddy track is Akeman Street, part of the old Roman Road which stretches across this part of the Cotswolds. Here we hunker down on the stone wall and gratefully drink watery hot chocolate.
From Akeman Street looking across to the Hatherop Estate as the afternoon draws to a close. We must hurry, if we are not to be finishing our walk in darkness.
But the too-short day catches up with us and soon the trees are dark shadow dancers as we trudge along muddy grass. A lone black bull sillhoutted against the night sky, bellows a challenge in the chill dusk.
With much relief and tired legs, we return to the village, now festively lit with decorated cottages. Such a reviving sight after a rather melancholy walk and the realisation, not for the first time, that if Christmas didn't exist in mid-winter, it would have to be invented.
By co-incidence, we did part of this walk exactly (to the day) a year ago, but the weather was somewhat less gloomy, as can be seen by comparing some of the photos.
Readers who subscribe to my other blog will know that in early October I broke my upper arm. It's been a long two months and I've been somewhat reclusive since then, venturing out for little local walks when I have had the energy - and not at all in the recent sub-zero temperatures we have not-been-enjoying in the normally temperate UK. But things do, eventually return to normal and yesterday saw a thawing, to our relief, although we have been comparatively lucky, sheltered beneath high ground.
My walk yesterday was the first for weeks and it was simply the same route I've been treading for eight years. It is hard to see it with a fresh eye, especially when one is feeling dull and tired. Winter is, by definition, a fairly lifeless season but the winter greens are managing to push through. Over to my left, as I negotiate icy mud, our village nestles almost camouflaged in the landscape like a brown sleeping mouse in a bundle of dead leaves.
The sheep seem to be weathering the cold, as are the many flocks of crows and jackdaws which punctuate my walk with constant cackles and caws.
But just as it seems as if nothing can break through my ennui, I notice the vivid tans and browns of the landscape, glowing in the warm sun which is melting the last of the snow.
And the way a cloud formation can look exactly like a giant bird of prey in hunched, hunting position, tail down and wings spread.
It's been over a month since I went more than two miles from the village, thanks to my workload, Christmas and the snow. I dutifully chained myself to my work desk again on Monday, stifling - not very successfully - a heavy sigh as Andy took the motorbike over to our new walk, Akerman Street at Eastleach, to take photos. I hate being left behind. But later he returned and told me to grab my coat and helmet; the sun was out and it was a beautiful day. Work or no work, I grabbed my gear and was taken on a whistle stop tour of our patch looking at its most glorious in its winter colours. First we went to the top of the biggest hill, where we can survey our kingdom, looking towards the west. The views are vast and wide, and we were on top of the world, spotting the dear familiar landmarks of far off lanes and villages. 
On to Swinbrook, most pretty of West Oxfordshire villages, where the Windrush has surged over its banks into the flood fields, providing small lakes for wild fowl. 
A bright St George's Cross, the flag of England, flaps cheerily from the little church where I have taken many photos - but that is another story for another day. 
Taking the bike down narrow, twisting lanes, we stopped every so often simply to absorb the views, cold, steely flood water reflecting the soft, apricot light.
Another flood plain and an old farmhouse being renovated -
After so many weeks of the same scenery, it was breathtaking to be out and about.
One solitary, stately swan enjoying a temporary paddling pool.
Time to make tracks for home and head on up the winding lane.
As the dying sun began to steal what little warmth there had been, there was a last stop off to capture a solitary beech clump, which stands near Shipton Barrow, just seen in the back ground. Sadly on private ground, so no exploring - just a final souvenir snap of a wonderful tour of our part of the Cotswolds.
I have not left the cottage for seven days, and it's been even longer since we saw a bus. Thankfully I have a glut of work to keep me occupied, and we did catch the very best, sunny day to go walking, exactly a week ago. With the difficulties the snow has caused we are thankful that a thaw has set in and I hope to get out and about again. But that day, the snow was at it's best - so here are some memories from the Cotswolds, during what the media like to call 'The Big Freeze'.
Our familiar footpath leading away from the village -
Going up towards the estate farm, and my favourite line of trees.
Hardy sheep scraping back the snow to graze on frozen grass.
A pollarded willow alongside a snow hidden stream -
Walking up to the fields where a pair of ravens are nesting - they too were out and about, raggety-spilling through the cold blue sky with their wonky flight and cronking calls.
Walking in the snow, we found, was quite tiring. Wait for me Andy - you've got the hot chocolate!
I said, wait for me!
Many of the footpaths were untrodden by anyone else except birds and animals. But the gamekeepers and farmers still keep an eye on things - they have landrovers.
This white expanse covers what is usually a crop field, and I have fond memories of walking through waist high rapeseed flowers, whose heavy scent to me is the very essence of Oxfordshire in high summer.
In deep winter however, it looks as if the badger has been the only walker on this path.
Apart from some large Andy-shaped boot prints, left from his walk the day before and already filled in with overnight snow.
After a four mile tramp through the snowy countryside, it was good to hit the road and have some easier walking, back to the village. I am looking forward to seeing some colour in the landscape again.
