This is the last day of the year. It is mild out, around four degrees below zero, and snowing softly. We have made our pilgrimage to the camp site and eaten charred food cooked on an open fire. The woods are filling up with snow. It is winter. The wind, usually brisk, has held off for the last few days, so the trees are heavily laden. The temperature has been mild, so mild that yesterday the faint flurries felt like rain on our faces. A thin layer of ice clings to many surfaces, including the roads, so driving may be treacherous today, and we will be travelling from here to Fredericton to Bristol and back. The Centreville road is probably in bad shape, so it will be the highway for us. After many false starts, this looks like the genuine snow season; we have packed down a snowshoe trail, and I think some of this will be with us through April. Heighho.
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