If there’s one word that sums up the Suffolk coast in winter, it’s enchanted. As you approach from inland, the mellow, low sunlight changes, becomes purer. There’s a sense of the spiritual – a thinner veil between worlds. Long gone are the busy summer days with tourists thronging for ice creams and selfies. Now, there’s a stillness, a hush.
Under the huge, ever-changing skies, nature reasserts itself; skeins of geese arrow through the air, their haunting, evocative calls somehow making the empty landscape seem even bigger. Watchful deer break from cover, daintily picking their way across heaths rimed with frost. Marshes and reedbeds make for a sere palette of browns, greens and greys. But on crisp, sunny days, the skies are an impossible shade of blue, and endless.
Inland, the enchantment is of a different kind. Historic, orange-roofed market towns sparkle with lights; Christmas trees stand sentinel in squares and on greens; ancient, flint-knapped churches are expectant with the season; timbered inns
