Whiter

It is so quiet up on the tops, and there is no one around. One of the wind turbines moves at a desultory pace, the other not at all. The sun pours light onto the snow, which has been touched with frost overnight, and resembles a vast carpet strewn with tiny fragments of diamond, as if crushed underfoot by some careless giant. Loose and powdery with these feather-like crystals balanced on top, the snow still creaks under my wellies, but quietly.