Bright sunlight. Blue sky. Frosted bog bridges along the Heath, sparkling in the sun. Frozen crunching leaves. Deep frost on the grass, creating little miniature white forests at my feet. Hoar frost like twisted and curled ribbon candy, pushing up through the earth. A shadow from above. The neat and fast flapping of the Pileated Woodpecker's wings, a flash of red on its head. Loud cackles and calling out over the marsh. A second viewing high against the blue sky as I cut across the street to the cart path. Turkey prints in the now frozen sand. Deep breaths. Crisp air. Perfect early winter run.