It was 14 degrees when I went for a walk the other morning. Three layers under my puffy, wool socks, fur lined boots, checked scarf and a knitted beanie. Oh, and omni-heat gloves, but my hands were still cold.
The morning fog was clearing and tiny ice particles drifted from the frosted air, dusting everything in delicate white.
Faint sunshine was marginally warmer than the shadows. Interesting, at that temperature, to experience a meager difference.
Belle was oblivious, romping and sniffing in the cold, while I wandered, observing. Observing iced trees hung with pinecone ornaments and glistening leftover crab apples. They looked like candied apples to pluck.
Diminutive birds fluttered from branches overhead, joyous, as one would expect. And a squirrel or two ventured out, fleet of foot.
I found myself humming "Walking in a Winter Wonderland." It's one of my favorite Christmas songs, always reminding me of my Granddaddy. Later on, we'll conspire, sitting by the fire.
The park was beautiful and surreal, held in time, frozen and wonderful.
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