Nature's Frosty Reception

The first frost signals its arrival. It's crunching underfoot as I make my way to the outhouse in -2?C the next morning. The days are short already; it's 8:15 and my shadow still reaches back to the mill. The warm and inviting mill...The kitchen oven and the fireplaces all take in wood through small cast iron doors at their base. They feed up into two massive chimneys through a maze of flues. And once heated, the brickwork radiates warmth all night. The bright rays sparkling off the mill stream belie the chill in the air. Around back, the mill still wears its white top-hat. Frost lurks vampire-like in the shadows, the dawn light its mortal enemy. Yet it tenaciously defies the odds. Finding some empty furrows, it clings fast to the frozen ground - and to its moment in the sun.