Tree

In the car the pungent resinous smell of Norway spruce accompanies us as we drive to buy kindling, wool and a tarpaulin. In the back the dismembered Christmas tree, branches collected in a blue IKEA bag, the trunk a sad amputee, awaits delivery to the green waste skip at the tip.

Sky

The sky this morning is palest blue washed over with the pink of the rising sun - the result a delicate shade of violet behind the dark weave of bare trees.

Windbreak

Filling up the car's screen-wash, two litres mixed up in tall green plastic mineral water bottles. I tip the bottle carefully over the hole it goes in, and begin to pour, but the wind catches the narrow twisting column of water and begins to blow it anywhere but into the tank. L stands in the wind's path, and I can finish the job.

Feet

My feet are warm inside my socks, inside my new slippers. My heels and the balls of my feet make the strongest contact, through these layers, with the softness of carpet, the hardness of floorboards beneath - hot-spots of sensation.

Wind

We set out in wellies, hats, scarves, gloves and waterproofs, leaning forward as the wind crashes into us headlong. It is hard to keep moving forward, and hard to hear anything but its roar in our ears. My eyes water, blurring my vision.

Moon

I stand on the doorstep in the dark, looking up to the south where a bright half moon shines, haloed with a breath of palest yellow. An aeroplane climbing from the east leaves a grey vapour trail just above a very bright star.

Down

The rain is flowing down the road like a shallow river, over its tarmac bed. Arcs of spray shoot upwards beside the car. The water fans out and flows fish-scaled down the little lane. We roll down together.