The weather forecast had threatened fog, but at home it was a gloriously bright and frosty morning, everything transformed with a scintillating mantle of rime.
Although I still have a cough, I felt much better than yesterday so wrapped up warm and set off for the river. As I headed downhill it gradually became mistier, and the river valley itself was muffled and secret, the vegetation bearing an even more generous coating of hoar frost. There was no else on the riverside path and I was excited to see two foxes playing on the opposite river-bank, the white tips of their tales acting as beacons through the mist. It's the start of the mating season, and I suspect that this pair will have cubs by the end of March.