Helmshore: Under the Wolf Moon

The last Sunday of the holidays is always a wistful one. After the warmth and ease of time spent with friends and family over the festive season, the dark loom of Monday morning weighs heavily.

I rose early, determined to at least half-reset my body clock for the week ahead, and spent a couple of hours reading and pottering in the dark. Pepper had no such intentions. She rose regally at 8:15, once the day had properly begun, and made it clear she would not be rushed.

Layered appropriately, we stepped out into the freezing air. Above Musbury Heights, the Wolf Moon still lingered — a January full moon traditionally named for the long winter nights when wolves were once heard howling beyond villages. This one was also a Supermoon, sitting closer to the Earth than usual and appearing larger and brighter, its pale light hanging low in a mauve-tinted sky as we began our climb up the Tor path, eager to catch the sunrise.

I’d invested in a new pair of gloves designed for winter swimming — warm, waterproof, and perfect for cold, wet days. They proved both a blessing and a curse: wonderfully toasty, but spectacularly clumsy when it came to operating the camera. The moon, unfortunately, bore the brunt of that compromise.

We disturbed a kestrel hunting for breakfast, which wheeled away in indignant protest as we passed.

At the summit, we settled onto the rocks, sheltered from the wind, and let the sun slowly warm our faces. Below us, the valley filled with golden light, spreading steadily as the day found its footing.

Descending via the farm track, I finally spotted a long-awaited visitor — the elusive treecreeper — spiralling delicately up a tree trunk, perfectly camouflaged and utterly enchanting.

Back home, I refilled the feeders. The garden birds, clearly unimpressed at having endured a full week without a top-up, descended in force, flitting eagerly between stations. I sat at the window with a warm mug, watching with quiet joy.

I love travelling, but there is something deeply special about being home.

There’s something quietly fitting about ending the holidays beneath a full moon — light at its brightest just before the rhythm shifts again. The Wolf Moon feels like a threshold, marking the deep of winter while hinting that change is already underway. As routines return and mornings grow earlier, these moments — frost underfoot, birds at the feeders, light spilling into the valley — feel like anchors. A reminder that even as we move forward, home is always there, steady and waiting.