It's been a strange winter here. Jinxes be damned, there's only been a single week of legitimately cold weather. There's been so little snow that all the energy I typically expend on shoveling has been transferred largely to sitting on my duff. Our days out skiing have been limited to areas with enough forest cover to nab what snow has accumulated.
And, quite miraculously, the past two days have seen wadges of thick-as-borscht fog descend on the city and – to a much greater extent – out where I work, in the country.
So after the news crews out to see Manitoba Merv prognosticate an early spring (as if winter ever really arrived – again, jinx) wrapped up their on-site reports, I took a short walk.
I went over to the clubhouse, a locked-up out-building on the premises used by school groups in warmer seasons. Under its eaves is a network of cobwebs and barn swallow nests. Because of the fog and damp, the webs were all coated with a thick beading of hoarfrost.