Parky out. Gone is the soaked forest all soggy underfoot, gone are the waterlogged paths and puddles; well, not gone, more transformed. Overnight the temperature dropped significantly and we arrived this morning to find the forest dusted in white frost, the ground hard under foot, and the paths traversing Clay Hill Bottom no longer a series of narrow streams now turned into treacherous tracks of icy glass requiring a jazz hands walking stance. Quite the transformation.
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