Our ravine jaunt on Saturday, while pleasant enough to the eye was a real exercise in exposure to physical misery. The high was minus-14-degrees C. with a windchill of minus-29-degrees. And it most certainly felt like it. It was one of those winter days when the wind was mean and the atmosphere so wretchedly cold that that the merest hint of a breeze would have been sufficient to increase the misery quotient. This was a whipping wind.

We managed to get through about three-quarters of our usual jaunt, before I suggested we make a speedy retreat and head for home. My face felt as though it was afire with the cold and my digits, despite three layers of combined mittens and gloves, felt miserably stiff with cold. Through four layers under a down jacket I still felt a chill. It wasn't the best of all possible days to be out enjoying nature for hours at a stretch, so we made for home.

Sunday was colder yet, the temperature unable to nudge above minus-19, and Monday was no better, while Tuesday rose one full degree to minus-18. We decided to give our usual ravine ramble a pass, to wait for more opportune and forgiving weather. On those extremely cold days the sun is often up there sailing in an ocean of frigid blue, as opposed to the sky being the colour of pewter, almost matching the snow below in a lovely icy monochromatic scheme of pure visual glory.

When the sun is out on these days it tends to help warm the interior of the house. The heat of the sun is enough, even in such frigid weather, to glow its heat through the stained glass windows of our home. The darker colours of glass are hot to the touch, and the heat is transmitted to the house interior. As for the visual splendour of the sun beaming its rays through the stained glass, that too is beyond splendid, edging fairly close to spectacularly pleasing to the aesthetic eye.