The northern snowstorm launched its surprise attack. Alder’s few remaining autumnal leaves clung desperately to twigs and branches, fast collecting an icy burden. Beneath, in the shelter of its tightly woven crown, a small patch of exposed sustenance attracted a freezing, hungry herd. But segregated, they were denied; destined to maunder in forbidden desire.
Initially, as I looked, I saw a beautiful snow swept scene. The purity of the whiteness, the warmth of the few remaining leaves, the green grass which set off the tree trunks and pool of water it stood in. But the longer I looked, the stronger the wind got, and the more snow started to fall. The increasing white-out of the background highlighted the fence sealing off the gathering cows. I thought that in this instance it is not nature that is cruel, but circumstance, the cows are in the wrong field.