Footprints, through the snow and feeding on fruit.

1. Lines of paddy paw prints over the snowy carpark clue me in on the night life.

2. The doorbell rings. The triumphant Abel and Cole man hands over our veggie box.

3. Each cluster of pale orange rowan berries is weighed down by snow. The high branches are weighed down by feasting wood pigeons.

Little brown job, turkeys and puppy.

1. "Sort of skulking?" "Yes, and picking bits out from between the paving stones." "That's a dunnock." Another of our home birds identified.

2. My parents' neighbour has four turkeys in a pen in the woods. They are pleased to see us and come to the fence to show off their green-black plumage. One of the males fans out his tail for us.

3. He brings his great dane puppy out to meet us. Its colour makes me think of a batch of biscuits -- pale gold to soft tan. He says its spent the short afternoon testing the boundaries of his garden.

Beads, kindness and redress.

1. Blackbird's alarm call. Newton's cradle.

2. Nick finds me gasping and retching in the kitchen, breakfast half set out. He rubs my back and says: "My brave girl." Later, he takes the fish pan that I can't bear to look at out and scrapes it into the compost bin outside.

3. Dog let off the lead chases after a magpie. The bird launches into the air, making the same ratchetting alarm call that disturbed me this morning. Ha ha.

Safety line, scotties and new twins.

1. Oak wood. Before my eyes, a caterpillar (fallen through space) hangs on a thread.

2. Two black scottie dogs pass by, their legs blurred.

3. Tiny twins are being fed in the precinct. One wears a blue broderie anglaise sun hat, the other is in pink.

Baking, town badgers and not alone.

1. Our house doctor says: "Whatever you've got baking, keep doing it." It's just a loaf of bread -- but the smell always cheers me up, too.

2. He says that there is a badger track across his town garden, and that friends over the road have a sett, too.

3. Andy walks me home after an evening of catching up and commiseration about the housing market. If anyone wants Tunbridge Wells flats, we've got them.

Water comes, the parcel and saved from certain death.

Another pair of newses:

a. Sarah Salway, writer of marvellous books, is offering free (that's right, free) prompts for writers on her blog. As a keen scribbler, I don't compromise when it comes to prompts -- and neither should you. Roll down a little on the lefthand side to find them. (Can I have my biscuit now, Sarah?)

b. Hunter-Gatherer, the man who lives by his bushcraft skills in a home-made treehouse in the woods, announced yesterday in a post (mainly about catching and preparing pigeon) that he has proposed to his girlfriend. They are another Nick and Clare pair, which is a lovely co-incidence.

1. On the first day of rain after a long dry spell (Sunday was the first day I had to fill my watering can from the tap), I like to lift the lid of the rainwater barrel, stand on tiptoes and see that it's full to the brim.

2. Early today, an Amazon parcel arrives addressed to Nick. I assume it's some special interest tome like Biggles on a Train Versus Hitler's Deadliest Baseball Quarterbacks. But when Nick comes home, he says: "It might be a little present." He opens it, and hands the contents to me wrapped in a napkin. It's a new game that I've been mooning over: Professor Layton and Pandora's Box. I played the first one earlier in the year, and was charmed by its Japanese-idea-of-Europe setting, gentle mystery story and challenging puzzles.

3. All the feet miss the snail that is ploughing unconcerned over the doorstep. It protests when I move it, clinging to the stone and drawing in its horns. I'm glad it doesn't know how lucky it was.

Picture of a snail in the dark from Stock.xchng

Juice box, wildlife and the cake.

1. The apple juice man appears at the door. "I was passing through and wondered if you'd like a crate." Yes please. Supermarket juice just doesn't cut it for me. Mole End's single variety bottles are as exciting as wine. I drink just one small glass a day with my breakfast, so twelve bottles should last almost three months.

2. It's time for the BBC's Autumn Watch. We enjoyed Springwatch so much this year, so we've been looking forward to this; particularly as they promised us badgers. They delivered: badgers frollicking in an orchard (complete with scratching action) as well as rutting stags (which is like a soap opera, but with MURDER), migrating barnacle geese and drunken butterflies.

3. A slice of chocolate beetroot cake has a subtle red tint when you tilt it to the light. Tastes good, too. I split it and filled it with strawberry jam.

Picture of guelder-rose berries from Barn Digital.

First photo, squirrel and staying warm.

1. I wake in the night and I am cold. I turn over and can feel waves of warmth rolling off Nick as he sleeps.

2. I actually gasp as I read the text message. It's a subject line and a 12-week scan picture.

3. A squirrel undulates across the lawn. It looks like a mmmmm handwriting exercise.

Cut out, aubergine and Nick laughs.

1. I use a craft knife to try some of Cindy's Scherenschnitte templates. Being allowed to use a craft knife unattended is one of the best things about being grown-up.

2. Before I put the leftovers from supper in the fridge, I pick out and eat a cube of tender fried aubergine.

3. I like to watch comedy with Nick (there is a new programme on that adds a voiceover to wildlife footage) and seeing him laugh.

Wheat, big cats and turnips.

1. In a car passing a field where, amid a cloud of dust, a combine harvester is pouring a stream of red-gold wheat grains into a trailer.

2. We were lucky enough to catch a WHF open day and spent a couple of hours marvelling at the big cats there. I've never seen a tiger close to, and I hadn't realised they were such a beautiful rusty tawny orange. I happened to be standing near when a visitor received his raffle prize: to hand-feed a tiger. He got strict instructions to tuck his fingers in, and he looked very nervous as he offered the chicken thigh through the fence. The tiger reared up (one enormous paw pressed to the wire) and took it in one scronching bite.

3. Turnips loll in the vegetable patch showing off their broad puce shoulders.

The report, a meeting and yellow dog.

1. I get a text message to say: 'All I'm hearing today is "Clare give me apple. Tree!"'.

2. He has seen my map and wants to know: "Are you going for a walk?" I show him where I'm planning to go, and his mother and sister tell me they've just seen an adder.

3. A labrador the colour of straw-dry grass bounds towards me on the path by the stream. I am taken aback by his enthusiasm and he pushes his wet, toothy muzzle into my hand. The lady hurrying behind him calls: 'Sorry, he's too friendly!'

Weather eye, from knee height and brotherhood of brides.

We've got a game going on Twitter. Tweet your beautiful things in the style of a 3BT title (eg: Long horizon, little clouds and plate of lemons.) and tag it #threebeautifulthings. You can follow me, too if you like: Threebt.

1. This garden on a hillside is so full of sky. Hilary says: 'I just like watching the weather.'

2. At two, everything is marvellous -- including a cat that streaks across the room when you try to stroke it; 'Aeroplane! In the sky! Making a noise!'; running faster than your parents; and 'One, two, three, four, five' apples on the tree.

3. Lorna and I slip round the the back of the house to bounce on the trampoline and talk about being brides. I need to get out of breath, and be reminded that I am not the only woman getting married.

Deer, hill and the other half.

1. The watchful deer are lying in the shade flicking their ears.

2. I like climbing a hill just because I want to see what's at the top. It's a piece of open ground, dry grass and parkland trees, a fragment of distant downs and a peep of the big house on the other side of the hill.

3. In Sevenoaks, mothers walk with teenage sons who look like princes.

Snip, lettuce and spectacle.

1. The slinking curves of a black cat shape has been cropped out of the bright world background.

2. To tear apart a head of Little Gem Lettuce, twist the sunlight yellow heart leaves off the bitter root, rinse off the mud and greefly and spin (rrr-rrr-rrr-wumph) in the salad dryer.

3. Before I can start reading, I must dip my glasses in the bath to stop them steaming over. The water reveals a hidden rainbow sheen on the lenses.

Free fruit, dog having fun and the allotments.

1. The wild raspberries are ripe: all the sweeter for being free.

2. In the park, a strange-looking dog (it has the head and legs of a terrier, but a barrel-like body that makes it look like a well-fed piglet) runs up the path, looking like its having the time of its life.

3. I like to walk along the path through the middle of the allotments, and see how other people's vegetables are doing; and to admire the ingenuity of their cold frames made from old french windows; and to watch their CD bird scarers flickering in the sun.

Trainees, open eye and last of the light.

1. Two guide dog puppies (long legs and big paws) in the shopping centre. The yellow one watches the tip of a furled umbrella carried by a woman walking past. He tries so hard to leave it, but at last can't resist having a chew. The black dog fails by stretching up to grab a shopping bag.

2. We are doing self-portraits in art. I liked drawing a practice eye and suddenly finding that it was looking at me.

3. Nick is not amused when I call him away from his baseball to walk back up the hill and look at the sunset. 'I've been walking down this road for 20 years. I know about the sunsets.' But this one is particularly good -- the edges of the clouds shine as if they have been heated to white hot.

The end is coming, pet care and broken promises

1. There is not a great deal to do at work -- we're mainly sitting around waiting for the end. I'm thoroughly enjoying killing time playing my Nintendo DS.

2. The caterpillar in the roses has left droppings on the table. Nick suggests we consider getting it a caterpillar litter tray.

3. We tune in to the BBC's Springwatch, enticed by the promise of badgers that never materialise.We are consoled by the sight of a stoat rolling its prey, a dead rabbit about twice its size; and parent birds cramming insects into the gaping beaks of their young; and peregrine falcons taking their first flights off the tower of Chichester Cathedral; and hairy seahorses floating in eel grass.

Laundry, bark bark bark and the night in.

1. I take a shirt from the wardrobe. It smells of sky and sunlight because it has been dried outside on the washing line.

2. The two dogs take turns to thrust their heads out of the catflap and bark greetings to us.

3. Dinner is in the oven. We are in the bath.

Shell sound, that's what a squill is and no porpoises.

1. All week my father has been blowing on winkle shells to make them whistle

2. My aunt shows me tight-curled squills -- tiny fists that have squeezed themselves blue -- hiding in the rough clifftop grass.

3. There are no porpoises to be seen, but there is the wind thrumming on the cables of the coastguard's radio mast; and a white pony that gravely lips my open hands.

A strangescape, a confession and about the lion.

1. Grape hyacinths. They look like a forest of bobbly trees in the wrong colour, rising out of a bed of succulent reeds.

2. He admits that he feels like pushing us both in the pond. I climb quickly back up the bank away from the water's edge. I'm tempted to jump in myself.

3. I love hearing Virginia McKenna speak -- she is narrating a documentary about Christian the Lion. She sounds as if she has every confidence in your ability to keep her secret.