I slip out of the hall into the comfort and quiet of my car, leave the village and head up the road. The lane which climbs up Marton Mountain is a thin dark slick - a little worse for wear after this winter's weather - but clear of frost and snow. 'Between-land' this - the valley below is cold but green while above, the small mountain kingdom of Trelystan has been transformed - for a few days only - into a magical land.
And never more magical than by moonlight. Under a dark starry sky the landscape is luminous and stark. Snow has fallen, lies still and brightens the night-time. Up on the top I stop a while and kill the lights the better to see the white fields and black tracery of hedgrows under the dark mass of Badnage Wood. There are no grey shades tonight.
I follow the lane between walls of snow. We've had very little snow really but drifts have blown and twisted into fantastic billowing shapes. Tonight, in front of me someone may well have strewn diamonds; the frost glitters and twinkles and lights my way home - which is warm and welcoming and a good place to be.