I love winter in my part of rural France. It's damp for sure, cold at times, sometimes bitterly so. It snows and there are storms, the wind can blast through the trees in the fields that surround the Seven Valleys making the huge balls of mistletoe that grow throughout the area swing wildly.
Inside the village houses, log fires are lit and often the only signs of life are the wisps of smoke that escape from chimneys, sometimes hanging in the still cold air, sometimes painting patterns in the wind.
Walking the dogs this time of the year, I'm pretty much alone save for deer bounding across the hedges, their tufty white tails bobbing up and down, and pheasants disturbed by the crazy lady who comes by every day whatever the weather.
In the village, of which people say "140 people and 1000 cows", there are none of the latter to be seen, they're safely tucked up in warm barns. My cats lie in front of the fire all day, I have to push them out the door to do what is necessary and ten minutes later they're back, screeching to be let in to join the dogs and shuffle about until everyone finds their nook.
My chickens, ducks and geese are hardy, but at times even they retreat to the shed, they don't always get on but when it's cold, they find a way to survive together, huddled in the straw.
The shutters we fitted in the summer have changed life for us this winter. Even with a gale blowing, inside we have no idea, buffered from reality, it's warm and cosy, we're snug as bugs (it's taken 14 years!).
This is what winter is all about for me here... my dream come true.
Janine Marsh