A snowy run

Confined to Seaford by the inability of Southern railways to get me to work, I had a day working from home, and thus the opportunity to run, just before dusk. I like my snow like I like my women: crunchy and frozen on the top, but yielding to a firm tread. Today's was wetter than the ideal, but good nevertheless. I set out along Chyngton Way to the foot of the hill to South Barn. Progress was slow on the slippery pavements and the track up the hill, but then I reached the top and flat, untrod paths, edged with fields of chilly sheep. The snow fell lightly here, blown a little by the wind. Everything was grey, and I could not tell where sky ended and sea began. To the east I could only make out parts of the Seven Sisters. I could see icicles under some of the cliff's overhangs. Then there is the descent, the same descent that slows up the end of Seaford half-marathon. I took this very slowly. A little way inland tobogganers slid down the slopes.