Now there is snow again. A few days ago, when it was dark and snowy, the deer came down -- five of them -- and hid in that little trench which used to supply the mill. There is a tunnel there, and maybe they use the tunnel for refuge or something. I think about these deer quite a lot. They are small and fragile things with thin legs, but also very hardy. One of them crashed past the door in a state of fright last summer. I want to reassure them, but they are reluctant to speak my language. I think of them in the snow. Really, I would like them to come to the door and eat titbits from my hand. I wonder what the ideal deer food would be. Hello, little deer, I would say, whilst offering beans on toast. Would you like to come in for a coffee? Maybe I haven't got this quite right yet. They looked at us warily anyway, and their eyes shone like broken glass in police lights.