By today our wee boy had reached his psychological snow limit so Jon and I left Theodore behind near the fireplace when we went down the slope behind us to the park and the river. Warned by friends that, unlike yesterday, it was wickedly cold today, we overcompensated of course and got so hot that we had to rip off our balaclavas. There was much to see and hear: never tiring of snow’s cobalt shadows in the sun, I collected yet more photos of elegant weeds and laden spruce branches for future Group of Seven homages while the toboggan hill in the park reverberated with delighted screams. We caught sight of a glossy fat beaver slipping into the river and swimming powerfully against the current. Jon commented that for once the gift of skis for Christmas would have been perfectly timed and indeed there were tracks everywhere. And not just of skis — even had we not seen their footprints, the deer had left evidence of their visit last night in the form of barenaked euonymus bushes around the house. Our bird feeders were equally busy during the day. I know the feeling, having eaten my own weight over the last few days.
It’s winter. Stay warm and enjoy this beautiful country. Glad tidings to all.