The great Marsh Harrier who hunts just North of Emneth hung motionless in the cold currents high above me while Whooper Swans flew to their feeding grounds with their conversations clearly reaching my ears. Upwell wrapped in mist sat quietly with her parish church casting a huge dark figure on the bank of Well Creek. Only the lights of village shops such as Mr Tweed's butchers gave a little light to the morning, a morning when even my hand-warmers failed to fight the chill.
The single yellow rose that still had hope even when covered in natures magical frosted diamonds was like so many of us, facing the inevitable and the river banks wore a coat of white with hem brushed by the gentle winter willows.
The first ten miles were cold and dark but once the mist lifted and the blue skies spread wide and clear over the fens it was a real pleasure to be out there enjoying the cold but fresh November morning. Now I'm sure I face many more frosted fen cycles in the coming few months that will lead us into Spring again as they do every year.
