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There are two paths, one by the edge of the lake and one up the hill above the lake. Too often, this pathway has bears with cubs. They are unwilling to move, and you often have to walk backwards, away, to avoid a clash. This time of year the undergrowth is preparing for spring.
The cold has reached below zero, and the garden is empty as can be. Half-finished tasks wait to be completed. A pheasant, red ring, flies by unexpectedly and startles me. Small birds flutter from bush to bush, looking for any remaining seeds.
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