Jacks back!

Jack's back! The land this morning was covered with his overnight labours; each blade of grass, each bud and stem, glistened with iced jewels; he and his minions are hard workers. Though much of his works were undone by the rising Sun, bursting with unseasonal warmth. The ground and foliage steam like a hot bath, sending steamy mists swirling through the stands of mature Oak and Beech, filling the nearby densely planted Pines and Firs like fog. The swirling plays tricks on you, creating persistent glimpsed shapes and movement only visible through peripheral vision, vanishing when looked for directly. Or maybe they're Mythagos. Suddenly guns sound through the woods, echoing through the trees and in the distance between the semi naked boughs dogs can be seen working; what their quarry is is uncertain. A beautiful day.