Concerning birds and buns .

The still water shivers with a ripple . Leaves that remain on the tree are like black lace or have been bitten round the edges by the cold .

Black silhouettes soar the sky . A contented lone figure strolls by the river , hands deep in pockets ,  she is planning some baking .

She grins and heads back up the hill in pursuit of the smell of freshly baked rock buns .