Each morning, a little weather forecast for Trosa pops up on my phone. I don’t know why given I didn’t give it permission. Nor do I know where it’s from. However, I don’t mind and it gives me a hint as to what to expect as I sit in bed, drinking my coffee and typing my blog post, my tablet resting on top of the still sleeping dogs. Obviously, I let them lie.
The weather forecast is often inaccurate, which means the element of surprise is not completely lost. This morning it was a surprise though. Snow was predicted with lows in the area below zero. According to KSP, spring arrives in Sweden with the return of the lövsångare – at least I think that’s what she said.
In my opinion, if the lövsångare arrived last week with the advent of lovely weather, it probably spent a large part of today repacking its little wheelie bag in preparation for a return from whence it had come.
Okay, there wasn’t any snow; not that I saw, anyway. There was a bit of light rain which may have started life as snow. However, the wind was definitely icy cold. So cold, in fact, that I was forced into a jacket.
Not that the chill stopped us from a scurry around Mount Trosa.
Since realising that I can now wear my hiking boots again without any bunion discomfort, I’ve started leaving the house by the gate in the back garden, skirting the big fallen tree and joining the path directly. For one thing, this means not having to use the lead on the dogs. For another, it means restarting my trail marking.
The amazing thing is that Emma knows where the trail is already. She leads the way and gets it right every time. In both directions.
The walk was fine but, best of all, was the view of our house from the main track.
It looks like it’s in the middle of a forest. Though, I can’t see any lövsångare in those trees.
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