A brilliant blue sky, so welcome after many days of grey gloom, and the low, winter sun was making distorted giants out of the tree shadows. This oak tree had been transformed into something from the African plains.
Higher ground beckoned (well, by Suffolk standards), so we set off up the footpath from Stone Street towards the "heights" of Hagmore Green. We walked up along the side of the local herbalist's well-ordered garden and out into the wide vista, stopping to admire the views towards Assington in one direction, Boxford and beyond in the other.
The frost was the hardest we have had so far this winter and every twig and blade of grass, even the top branches of trees, bore a shining image of itself, sculpted out of pure ice. Even the giant firs at Hagmore Green were draped in frost.
At Hagmore Green, we took the footpath across the field towards Assington, glad of the growing warmth of the sun on what was otherwise a severely cold morning.
It was a good thing that the ground was so solid, as the ploughed field beyond Avely Hall would have been a struggle through thick mud. As it was, we shuffled like trains on a narrow-gauge track along the tyre-marks left by the tractor, following in the footsteps of a group of deer. They suddenly spotted us and bolted in a series of lightning-quick leaps, white tails bobbing, towards the cover of some distant woods. Entry to these, according to a large, painted sign, was strictly forbidden. But the deer couldn't read and the wind had casually thrown the imperious object into a ditch.
We crossed the ever-busy A 134 and took a path which leads down what was once the linden-lined driveway to the old Assington Hall. Magnificent lime trees 20 metres or more high form a guard of honour on either side of the wide, grassy path.
The sun was growing warmer now and although there was no wind at all to shake the branches, the twigs at the top of the limes were choosing their moment to shed their icy cocoons. Cascades of sparkling shards tinkled to the ground all around us.
We took the path past the houses which were once the old Hall's stables and on down the track, stopping to look across to Assington church, with its castle-like tower, peeping from behind the trees.
Assington is having a building-fest. New houses have sprouted up in all the spaces politely left by the old ones. Some (though sadly not all) of the designs have settled in well and seem to feel at home, bringing new life to a rural community. But houses in a country village all come with cars - lots and lots of cars - and now walking in the surrounding lanes is a game of dodge-into-the-hedge.
We took the back lane out of Assington, towards the A134, dodging both the cars and the growing showers of ice twigs flinging themselves down from the trees. In places, these formed white carpets on the road surface, which exploded underfoot with a satisfying crunch.
Back across the A 134, we took an ill-defined path across the fields to the Hagmore Green road, wide vistas again opening out towards Boxford, Groton and Edwardstone.. The road was still flooded in places and icy; we teetered down the middle on a convenient strip of stones and twigs.
At Hagmore Green, the giant firs were now also throwing off their ice shadows. Sharp claws came tumbling down from 30 metres up, to shatter at our feet on the road, or occasionally - ouch! - on our heads.
We followed the same path back to Stone Street and through The Wash. After days of flood, the water was again tripping happily along within its boundaries. The sign put up a few years ago by the local authorities to warn of the depth over the ford loudly declared a manageable 20cm. Just to make absolutely sure, it repeats the measurement in feet and inches.
The weather today was to treasure - January at its most radiant, shining through the enveloping fog of a world gone crazy. Let's enjoy it, fellow walkers - they can't lock up the sun, or the frost, or the deer.
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