I went for a long walk at 9, the ground still frosty, covered with a mosaic of fallen leaves encased in a precious lettice of shimmering ice. The rosehips are still hanging from the branches but are beginning to show some wrinkling. It might be too late to pick them for drying and tea-making purposes... At least I managed to make one precious pot of rosehip jam.
In the afternoon I took the tools out to the front garden and cleared dead matter and cut back bushes. It feels good to get my hands dirty again, although I need a pair of new gloves.
And on the bright side, no more disturbing news of sudden inexplicable animal deaths en masse.
