frost on the path

2025 · 02

Out early, before the light was properly up. Not like me. There'd been a hard frost in the night and the path down by the water had gone white and stiff, every blade of grass edged with it. My breath hung around in front of my face.

Kept stopping to look, so the walk took ages. The big bare tree by the bench looked huge against the pale sky with all its branches picked out. In summer it's just a green mass you don't notice.

A heron stood at the edge of the water not moving, doing that patient statue thing. Might be the same one I keep seeing, might not, I've probably invented the whole relationship. It let me watch a minute, then decided I was too much and lifted off, slow about it.

Home with frozen fingers. Made tea.