Frosty mornings are becoming the norm these days. If I want to catch the frost though I have to be quick about it because once the sun touches that ice tipped landscape, the bejewelled bracken turns back into a gentle wash of orange, brown and yellow.
The dogs don't seem to notice the frosted landscape although there is less sniffing and more gazing into the distance than happens on mornings that are not heavily laden with crisp dew.
There is, and always will be, a singular joy in bounding through grass, whether it is covered in frozen water or not. I will say, however, they are much easier to spot on mornings enchanted with a backdrop of white.
It's hard not to love the serenity of these moments that I know very few people are willing to appreciate on a regular basis. They miss the waking sun, the still apprehension of a day not quite born, and the innocent exploration of your friends as they welcome another day of life like they didn't know it was coming.
Chances are though, they didn't, and don't know about tomorrow either. I guess that's why they don't hurry past interesting smells, or ignore an unusual noise, or turn a blind eye when something bends a branch in the distance. Those are the things that make them dance with joy when I get their collars out, race for the door, stomp impatiently at the side gate, and throw themselves into the truck ... as far as they are concerned the walk today is the only walk that counts.