No need for the photographs, these are much better. This is exactly how the village (I would call it a hamlet because it is so small, but it does have a church, so that disqualifies it) looks under a blanket of snow - and here is one of my photographs to illustrate.
We have had a few inches of snow, enough to make everywhere look magical and enough to have a snowball fight or two. It can go now.
My granddaughter discovered that one of her Guinea Pigs had died yesterday. She sat on her daddies knee and had a jolly good howl, may even have accidentally wiped her runny nose on his shirt, but was eventually consoled with a cup of hot chocolate dotted with marshmallows and swirled with cream.
Once the hugs, plus the magical healing power of chocolate had soothed the raw emotions, her mum gently suggested that they should plan a funeral for the little animal.
Owl Wood has a small pet cemetery within. My dear old Toby One is buried there, along with assorted pet hens, a cat, a Guinea Pig, and a large wild mouse which the grandchildren found dead in their garden several years ago.
I found a suitable box, Grandpa dug the grave, and granddaughter set about writing a poem about Snowflake the guinea pig. I added a tiny gold and pearl crown, some beautiful blue glass beads and a few assorted bits and pieces, small tokens for Snowflake to take on her journey. A small handful of rose petals, ready for scattering, and we were ready to go.
The ceremony was brief, snowflakes fell from the sky as Snowflake was laid to rest.
