Siberia blast.

This morning has dawned wild and wolly.

This Artic blast clearly begun somewhere in the distant North and gained nothing in Warmth as it traveled South over the frozen Steppes, crossed icy oceans and made landfall somewhere in the distant east on it's way to deliver a chill to us here on our mountain.

This is not a wind of industriousness though, not going round anything, lazily it cuts through the hapless fire wood cutter wrapped up in a vain hope of warmth.

30 minutes is about my limit for waving the heavy fire engine axes at the fire wood, then it's in the house and de frost before another 30 minutes of heroism.

At least I have the consolation that the first load of wood will soon be delivering a welcome warm red glow against the black canvas of the log stove.

There is something of unique comfort in a log fire on a cold day.

R