First Frost on the Moss

We have felt the chill coming. About 4pm as the sun dropped even lower in the sky the air took on a sharpness that meant winter was coming. Last night as we drove home from a friend's house, the ground mist that wrapped itself around the car cast a distinct chill over the bottom of the car.

Thus, even knowing what to expect, the stunning landscape left me as delighted as my first views of the grand unveiling of the Marshall Fields Christmas windows. It is hard to recreate that first sense of delight that only children can have. We become so quickly jaded and so many things are so easily compromised with product placements and infomercials.

The moss is a world unto itself. It is occasionally visited by tethered horses. Some folks may still dig peats there. My cats venture tentatively into the edge looking for mice and our neighbours walk their dog on a little patch of grass at the edge of the moss. Other than that, we rely on ambassadors from the moss--swans from the lochan, grouse calling to each other from the cover of the gorse, rooks on their way to and from the few trees, and an occasional glimpse of a roe deer.

She keeps herself to herself, adorning her sovereign self with the colours of the season. This morning the white mist hovered over the horizon. Morven, the snaggle tooth mountain, was tucked out of sight and the reeds and sedges and heather wore a dusting of crystal over their copper-red-green costumes.