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.
The snow has come late to our patch of the Cotswolds, but when it did arrive, it fell so quickly I had to dash out to capture it. As I left the village, it was just beginning to lay properly. There was an unusual amount of bustling for a Tuesday afternoon as people stripped our Co-op store of emergency supplies. Our little Victorian church was looking sweetly Thomas Hardy-ish.
Up at the allotments it was hard to see further than a quarter of a mile ahead - white out on the horizons.
I was the only person out walking, in a snow globe world of my own. 
As I left the village, I became wrapped in white muffled quiet, the landscape transforming into a Flemish painting.
Looking back at the allotments and seeing the village disappearing.
I headed for the tunnel and beyond -
Now I felt like an arctic explorer, warm under my layers, as the snow fell faster in thick clumps. 
How beautiful even the bare seed heads appear - the summer froth of cow parsley flowers replaced with ice crystals.
I was not too far from habitation - soon I was heading for a farm, my footprints the only ones, save for the spidery trails left by birds.
Pheasants were flocking to the farm, intent on shelter and filching stray grain from the storage bins. As I approached, they whirred clumsily up into the flurries, cackling rustily, like clockwork toys.
I was back on the lane and turning for home -
- just in time to catch a blurred shot of Mr Hare, not as graceful as he normally is, lumbering across a distant field.
Back towards the top farm I clumped, my mouth open and tongue out to catch the falling flakes.
Snow seems to suit Cotswold houses, the thick stone walls appearing impenetrable from any cold. 
Time to go home. 
Past the gorgeous house-which-should-be-mine...
Past the farmer doing some housework on the hedgerows...
Reaching my favourite footpath which takes me back to the village as dusk falls.
The stream trickles slowly, the only noise save for the distant laughter of children from the central green. 
Dog walkers began to emerge, and I was almost back to civilisation.
In the time I had been out and about, we had been transformed. What will tomorrow bring? 
On my own in this freezing weather, as poor Andy is having to sleep over at work - impossible to get the motorbike out of the ungritted village, or even to the end of our lane without dropping it. What I needed was an afternoon's walking. Starting up at the allotments again, but turning the other way. This is a new route to me; the last time I tried this was a few years back and it wasn't even signed. Needless to say I got a little lost and inadvertently trespassed, so I haven't bothered with it since.
Familiar terrain becomes a fresh landscape when you can see a different aspect to it. Normally I would be walking along the road, between those houses.
At least the snow made it obvious where I was supposed to go - the paths are littered with spoor, some of them dog, but also dainty bird prints and bunny hops - the four feet kept so close together as Brer Rabbit landed, that it resembles a large paw print.
Such a clean, clear day and the stillness that intense cold brings.
I headed up towards the woods, to begin the turning of the circle.
The sun began to set, breaking through a copse of looming conifers.
Now I had to venture down what is normally a mired track. I was hoping the mud would have frozen solid - it had, though I had to pick my way carefully. There were some ominous cracks and squelches as I hopped from clod to snow capped clod.
Further on, the hedge trimmers were out - farming takes no holiday. 
I turned just in time to catch sight of -
- dithering deer. With a trimmer roaring away either side of them and myself at the top of the field, they hopped about, trying to decide which way to flee, before skipping away to the only unoccupied area.
As the sun disappeared, my way home was followed by a pale sickle moon, and I was surprised to find I had been out for three hours, although my walk was only just over four miles. A splendid way of whiling away a solitary winter's afternoon.
I said, wait for me!
