there was a strange incongruity about it; the bitter cold temperature and the bleak landscape, colliding oddly with the burbling trill of a red-winged blackbird and the cronking of the ravens, nesting on the silo.
between the full moon and the dissociation of daylight savings time, i was awake early - 6am, or was it really 5am? - after a fragmented night of sleep. i sat, sipping my hot lemon water, trying to ignore the ache in my back.
eventually, i couldn't ignore it any longer. i got up, got dressed and convinced the Emma-dog out from under the mound of blankets where, when i'm not going to work, we like to start our slow mornings.
a walk, then. just a short one, around the pond. i paused to snap a photograph of the Canada geese, seemingly ice-bound, where they'd spent their overnight. we like to joke that the pond is a sort of migration-route Motel 6. we get lots of overnight guests, but no-one ever stays.
it was too cold to linger - a bracing -8C with a 'feels-like' of-15C. the Emma-dog was doing a tortured dancing-shuffle, trying not to have her paws touch the ground for any length of time as i was faffing, taking pictures and just standing, with my eyes closed, listening to the strange symphony of spring.
with frozen finger-ends i topped up the bird-feeders and then we hurried into the warmth of the house, the promise of tea (me) and the mound of blankets (the Emma-dog) winning out in the end.