November Frosts and Canicross

A month of fantastic weather and a bout of the flu/covid, sun streaming through the steam from my hot mug of lemsip, the heating on and a hot water bottle strapped to my front. But the dog still needs walked. I am grateful for crisp and dry conditions as we crunch through fallen leaves in the local wood, then drop down to the river where a dipper patrols his shadowed beat.

There's an owl in the tree above us on the way home, and the dog flushes a woodcock. The Pentlands glow a distant bronze across stubble fields, reminding me of what awaits when I feel better. We walk past new-built estates, spreading across Midlothian like human coral.

This has been a time of supermoons, of comets and northern lights, and I have largely been an observer. But as I start to feel better, I decide I'm well enough to body for SARDA. Up on the hill, I get cosy in my hiding spot and spend the day napping. What if something happens to you out there? asks my wife. I am with the right people, I reply. I will be alright.

And the canicross? I've run out of time, so that's for another post.