At last spring is upon us and we have had the first really pleasant walk of the year, the sun warm and the breeze mild. The weather was the best thing about tthe day, for we chose to venture to an area of our county which we rarely explore by foot. This flattish, cultivated part of Oxfordshire is frankly a little dull compared to the wilder, rambling curves of Gloucestershire, our usual tramping ground.
Even a pedestrian landscape could not blot the sheer happiness that blue skies and a kindly sun can inspire. To add interest, we headed across the fields to Spelsbury village to examine the church.
Sitting outside the village to share the customary thermos of hot chocolate, we could look across to our start point of Chadlington village and the distant tower of St Mary's church where we were parked. It seemed like a very long way off, though only 2-3 miles.
Spelsbury All Saint's church, hiding behind the many old yew trees which cluster in the grounds.
The church itself was pretty enough, not as old as some we've explored. The tower apparently is Norman in origin, though not obvious at first glance.
The plain doorway too is original Norman and looks as if it might have had side pillars once.
Inside some rather lovely stained glass panels forming an entrance hall - probably Victorian, I am guessing.
The church is undergoing some restoration and there was a stone mason at work, the quick, sharp tap-tap of his hammer and chisel echoing up the nave as it must have done through the centuries; little has changed in this old craft and it is probabl that a mason of the 13th century could, if transported to this moment in time, recognise his trade and tools and settle to work in the same fashion.
The interior is a little austere and plain. It's a church which has had much 'fiddling about with' in its life. Here you can just see the stained glass of the porchway beyond the pillars.
A little mosaic cross beneath the original font.
Glad to return to the sun, we explored the churchyard. John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester and a notorious 'Regency rake' is buried in a vault beneath the church. A celebrated wit and poet, he gained a reputation for many things including poetry which was frankly pornographic at times. I have found an excellent thesis about him here, but do be warned that some of his work, even though written a few hundred years ago, may still be offensive!
We began to turn the circle of our walk. A sweet little farm cat came mewling up to me, begging for attention and proceeded to follow me up the lane despite my ignoring her. However when I heard a van approaching at speed, I put my hand up to halt it and had to scoop the silly thing up as it was oblivious to the danger. Thankfully the driver must have been a cat lover and there were no nasty accidents that day. I popped her down and hastened away, despite her pathetic cries. 
Unusual - and sad - to see a boarded up cottage in the Cotswolds, which is a prime property spot.
Past the grand and chilly Dean Manor.
The afternoon sun was still pleasant but just beginning to catch an edge. Lambs are not out in the fields yet but there are plenty of fat sheep.
A final little adventure which I didn't photograph; a nasty encounter with three heavily pregnant cows who were stood right across the footpath. We were joined at the gate by a man and his dog, the dog being the object of the cow's displeasure - much bellowing and bridling as Andy tried to get past them. I hung back, not being a big fan of cattle at the best of times. The walker stood well away and encouraged me to go on, assuring me that they weren't interested in us, just his dog. I am still not sure how I plucked up the courage to go through them, especially when the lead cow started trotting belligerently up towards me. Death by cow is rare, but it does happen. Thankfully they left us alone once we were past and we hastened to the next field, crossing a pleasingly pastoral brook.
Soon after, we saw the walker and dog emerge from another route he had taken to avoid the cows. We began chatting as he caught up - not being a dog owner I have never seen cattle react like that. He then told me that he didn't want to tell me before, but his wife was once trampled by cows who repeatedly charged her, when walking their dog. (I am SO glad I didn't know that before!) Mercifully and with the aid of a superb surgeon, she survived, despite sustaining chest and collarbone injuries which normally cause death. Out of interest, I managed to find an old newspaper report about the incident. I think the next walk will be a nice sheep-filled one.
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.
Today, January the first, seemed a fitting start to the New Year to get my cycling legs back. I haven't been out for a ride since breaking my arm back at the start of October and felt a bit nervous about my first outing. It was a cold, dank afternoon, with a hint of mizzle, but the snow is almost gone at last. Despite the gloomy weather, Marjorie and I were exuberant to be out again, rediscovering the freedom of the road.
There was barely a soul around. I stopped to say hello to the little Shetland pony who seemed warm but bored.
Stopping again to look at the thaw water swelling the stream.
This is our version of 'Downton Abbey', cunningly hidden by judiciously planted trees; this is as much as a commoner will see from the road, when winter has stripped the branches. Time to head back to the village and home, feeling properly hungry for the first time in weeks. Fresh air and exercise - can't be beat.
Seasonal greetings from the Cotswolds to all! Great Britain is undergoing it's coldest winter since records began in the 1890's and here in our patch we have had even worse snow than last January. On Christmas Day we set off for a morning walk around the fields, before everyone else emerged after lunch.
A little brook, half frozen at the edges, but still sluggishly trickling towards a larger tributary of the Evenlode river, a couple of miles away.
The most familiar of paths are transformed -
- and the broad fields are pristine, save for the meandering tracks of wild creatures. The horizon is softened by an icy haze.
The dullest of dead vegetation metamorphosis's into ice sculptures -
- and the stark, sleeping trees appear sepia-black against the sky.
The horse chestnut avenue leading towards the farm -
- and my favourite line of trees looking delicately skeletal; in summer it is a plump lushness of greenery, as seen here.
A welcome stretch of cleared road and the rare sight of tarmac.
To the right of the tree line, the big house seen from the side.
As we come off the road and turn back into farmland, the snow becomes deeper and completely unsullied, undulating over the ploughed trenches like a white desert.
Looking back to see the deep path we have trodden; it was only a few months ago that I was walking here on cracked, baked earth, brushing through chest high wheat, the sun hot on my back, feeling slightly spooked by the whispering of the dried corn heads.
Wait for me Andy - I'm still taking photos!
Time to head home - the village is but a few minutes away, through the hole in the hedge - there is the church and spire beyond, just seen through the freezing mist.
Winding tracks in the snow, where the allotments have been a larder for the rabbits and hares - and goodness knows they need it. Next week the temperatures rise and we will have rain. Despite the stunning beauty of the snow, I think animals, birds and humans will breath a collective sigh of relief as life gets back to normal.
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.
