The full moon radiates on the horizon, glowing more brightly than ever in the clear, cold sky on this early morning in January. The air is so cold my cheeks and fingers tingle as the gentle breeze catches my breath and I tuck my chin further down into my warm scarf. My nostrils begin to go numb around the edges as the condensation from within my nose feels as though it forms tiny ice crystals at the edges. This cold snap is a welcome change, as though we are finally doing winter properly. It is infrequent this exposure to the harsh conditions that can exist outside during winter months. I have got too used to grey, wet and warm but the relentless, dreariness of constant grey skies really gets me down after a while. This bitingly cold spell has lifted my spirits and I am doing as much outside as my body can bear.

This January full moon feels full of hope and potential and I breathe in the positivity that seems to radiate from her, my nostrils detecting both cold and clear which has a smell of its own but cannot be named, not by me anyway, but feels dry, crisp and pure. As the moon shines it casts moon shadows that are almost as clear as the sun’s, I tune into the crisp, crunching sound of my feet flattening the ice crystals on the grass beneath my feet. The dogs’ paws doing likewise to my left and right, creating a surround sound while we enter into the delightful new landscape of winter’s chill. The male tawny owl, a constant companion in this garden, marks out his territory to anyone willing to listen, then last night, excitingly, a female tawny called out nearby; I hope the two have now met. Not that I ever see the tawnys, unlike their barn owl cousin who silently drifts around the garden each night and reliably leaves her, or his, pellets around their favourite sit spots. A raven flies overhead, the call, so exciting when I first learned it, is now a daily event and I welcome him, or her, as they fly past each day.

The sky now has a beautiful pink hue as the sun slowly rises behind me. The ice on the ground now reflects the beauty of the sky above. Jackdaws fly in unusually high numbers overhead, chattering to one another with their distinctive caw, to where they fly I am not sure. A wren flies towards me then flitters suddenly away and calls out startled. I think she must want either the shelter or some food in the woodpile beside me; it’s a perfect safe spot for a little wren. The morning is now well on its way and my fingers are so cold I shall have to retreat to the warmth indoors. I am grateful to have spent this time on a glorious January morning to have really listened and watched the surroundings. I so often just walk past, huddled into my jacket for any possible offerings of warmth it can provide, oblivious to the surrounding beauty or only noticing it fleetingly as I hurry towards the next chore or task on my list. I become aware that from our insulated, heated homes we are frequently so removed from the changes of the seasons but I am grateful to be able to now go indoors and thaw out with my favourite cup of tea or have a hot shower to recover the circulation in my white fingertips.

I feel grateful to have spent this time honouring the full moon in all her glory and to pause and appreciate, just for a while, the beauty that nature always provides.