I woke up this morning to the first frost of winter. The air was cold, crisp. The ground was hard. The water at the edges of the pond behind our house had frozen, a thin sheet of glass butted up against the shore.
A few months back, we’d gone frog-hunting after dark. We’d walked carefully, as quietly as we could, keeping an eye out for bull frogs in the dark. They’re easier to hear than to see, but once we’d caught them in the beam of the flashlight, that was it – they went completely still. It reminded me of Jurassic Park, but in this case, we were the apex predators. The frogs were the ones thinking, they can’t see us if we don’t move.
We put the heat on in the house – although, of course, this is America so we don’t have radiators. It’s nice to be able to set the house to a specific temperature, I’ll admit, but I miss having a focal point in the home. I thought about setting the dog’s bed up next to the radiator today and then realised, that’s not how we do things here.
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