There was a thin sheen of translucent white across the grass. My breath was quite visible as I ran the hounds and noted a cold full moon setting in the dawn's early light of Sunrise Peak. I had to fish out the scraper out of the backseat to use on Old Scratch.
Despite this, I wore shorts. Meteorological prophecy foretold of mid-sixties and light breezes. I had my vest, and learned from the time I was caught upon the tundra in a graupel storm; as long as my core is warm and I stay in motion, I'll be fine. The sun was starting to flood into the valley.
The aspens will start turning very soon. Those first flakes a nearer than further. I will be snowshoeing and not wearing shorts before long.
But, not yet. Not yet...