I came here, to Mickey Hill that is, hoping for signs of Spring.
Instead I found evidence of Old Man Winter's reluctance to move on.
Winter has ravaged the woodlands this time around.
As we walk through the woods the rusty pups are very busy scenting every nook and cranny,
catching up on the local wildlife gossip.
We reach the lake.
To my surprise it's still frozen solid.
But around the edges, the ice is loosing it's grip on the land.
At any moment now the rusty pups will start a game of tag.
This involves running at breakneck speed along the beach
Tearing around rocks
and crashing through the undergrowth between trees.
If it was warmer they would then collapse in the cool waters of the lake.