and then it was white

Yesterday I sneaked in a couple of hours of cross-country skiing at the Signaraux - stupidly leaving my camera in the car, so must imprint on memory the view of kite-snow-boarders weaving drunken trails up and down the hills, as the late afternoon shadows played against the Dévoluy peaks behind them...

On the way home I snapped the Obiou, just for the record... (Juan and I have wanted to climb it - in summer, of course - for years but are our days of 1500m ascents over?)...

and the Piquet de Nantes, across Lake Pétichet...

Today I grappled with the complexities of editing with a template - having recently returned to freelance editing in a bid to regain autonomy and re-balance our finances. Since my glory days in publishing, advances in technology and the perennial drive to save money have pushed the job of coding styles from the typesetter to the editorial function. So - yuk - it means hours and hours of concentrated, difficult, boring, fiddly clicking and highlighting of secondary maths exercises, plus neck pain, back pain, soul pain.... Whinge whinge whinge.

Having spent most of the night reliving the keyboard strokes, I watched spring turn to winter. Yes, we all knew it could happen but...