By mid-morning there had been two car crashes outside our house. In both instances a driver misjudged the stopping distance in the icy conditions and slammed into another vehicle. Initially, I peered out of the curtains with a degree of subtlety, but once the children realised what was going on there was a scramble for the best view and four hot faces ogled the drivers and misted the windows.
As the road was so slippery, we abandoned plans to drive somewhere in pursuit of deeper snow and walked instead, relishing the powdery crunches as we stepped. It was quiet on the Moss. It was as if the snow had surprised everything into silence. We didn't see anyone else as we passed the orchard and followed the lanes into the open farm land. The scene opened like a pause, an inhalation.
Then it started to rain. We raced home, wet and cold.
Later on we sang 'Silent Night' with my Gran who goes to Ireland tomorrow to spend Christmas with her family. And I thought about being on the Moss, earlier today in the calm and bright. There's something about Christmas carols and snow that leaves me feeling happy.