First ice on the gate puddle

7 November 2026 · −1°C at seven, +4°C by noon · still · fog in the low meadow

The fog sat in the lower meadow until almost ten. Every fence post had a spider web strung between the wire and the wood, heavy with drops, and the whole line of them glittered when the sun finally came through.

The puddle by the gate has frozen at the edges for the first time this season — a thin rim of ice, clear enough to see the dead leaves underneath. It was gone by the time I came back round.

Two jays were arguing in the oaks, unseen. A wren ticked at me from the brash pile and would not come out.