We are in our first-line emplacements. The snow has followed us, but alas, the thaw too. Happily, in this emplacement we don’t live in water as we do in the trenches.
Can any one describe the grace of winter trees? Did I already tell you what Anatole France says in the Mannequin d’Osier? He loves their delicate outlines and their intimate beauty more when they are uncovered in winter. I too love the marvellous intricate pattern of their branches against the sky.
From my post I can see our poor village, which is collapsing more and more. Each day shells are destroying it. The church is hollowed out, but its old charm remains in its ruins; it crouches so prettily between the two delicately defined hills.
We were very happy in the second line. That time of snow was really beautiful and clement. I told you yesterday about the sunset the other day. And, before that, our arrival in the marvellous woods. . . .