Jack Frost has sent his icy breath curling round the garden; setting grass in stiff spikes, and icing every hollow. Filigree patterns etched on each leaf and frond hold their own delicate beauty; whilst the ghosts of spiders webs hang still in shadowed corners; frozen mid decay.
All is quiet and still; the birds still roosted in litchen lined nests, or perched on power lines; feathers plumped against the cold.
A sudden flurry upsets the peace, as reluctant cats tumbling into the morning air, breathe soft mist and startle as paws contract on cold flagstone; causing a flexing of feet and mad scrabble to retreat back into the warm......
.....and I, with cheeks pinched and joints slowly stiffening ; swathe myself in cashmere wraps and woollen mittens, ready to step into half light of a day not quite begun, to embark upon the early morning commute.