An afternoon walk up Wallaford Hill towards Dartmoor.
The limpid sun was shining snowdrifts into curvilinear assortments.
The hush hush lolling and lulling across hedges of multiform mutants.
The higher up I went the deeper and more serpentine these snowforms became.
On the top of the hill the snow mushroomed up over the hedgerows like poppy puffballs.
Great white woolly mammoths curlicued over to suck you under.
Globular spongilla appeared to be engorging and expanding.
Sucky spirals carved like the wet withins of somewhere too intimate.
Snow is sensual. Snow is sexy.