Frost

Hard frost this morning, and there is still a good amount of rime on shaded areas by evening. On the rugby pitch at the rec the ground under foot feels like shingle, but these aren't stones - they are marble sized bits of frozen mud. White foot prints show up in the half-light, the impressions left by morning walkers, where the grass was flattened while frozen and brittle, and has never thawed and been able to spring back.

We love to roll on our backs in the frosty grass, arching our backs so that our heads and rumps take our weight, and we get up and shake ice crystals off our fur.

The water butts are frozen over and the ponds almost so. The wild birds are enjoying the food Dad puts out.

Even better, though, to come home and have Dad light a real fire while we eat our supper, the way we can spread out on the rug with as many cats as want to join us.

Winter's here!
Deefer