With a crystal clear frost topping the soil, winter arrived swaying his robes of white over Pendle and Bowland.
The sheep on the hillside pastures hunkered down, scratching the snow for grass.
Like a barrage of blankets soaked with moisture, a front rolled in, shedding wet cotton on the roofs and spires of the Ribble Valley
In the bleak snowfall, the trees were but a mockery of shelter
In the evening, the snowfall ceased, and the snowy blanket morphed into an icy landscape yet again
