The grip of winter

Close to the solstice, winter holds an icy grip at Old Sulehay. Sunless parts of the quarry have a crystalline coating - thin snow forming the base for complex ice sculptures created over days of sub-zero temperatures. The silence was intense, the dominant sound of my walk the crunch of my footsteps breaking through this glittering crust. 

The wood was more sheltered, but even here fallen leaves were crystal-edged. The cold had deformed some of the surviving fungi, their gills warped and lacy, but a Funeral Bell was made of sterner stuff,  emerging proudly from its icy moss bed.