March came in yesterday like the proverbial lion. Blustery and cold, with snow whipped all over the landscape, and bits of icy rain thrown in for good measure. That kind of weather translates as full winter-gear for our two little dogs when we prepare them for an outing in our wooded ravine.

Good thing they've long since become accustomed to wearing protective coats and boots, else it would be most difficult to have them out in this weather, since their little paws freeze and we've no option then but to carry them along. Difficult enough to struggle through deep snow uphill without having to carry two little dogs. They manage well enough if they're adequately protected.

Given the weather, though, we just have to wonder at the imagined plight of those less accustomed to it, who have arrived earlier than they perhaps should have in their southern-spring migration. Yesterday we saw a pair of Mallards steaming along in the middle of the creek, wondering at their ability to withstand the cold, since the edges of the creek were well iced over; just the current maintaining an open channel for them in the centre.

And we had also seen again, a small flock of robins, those live-eaters who flee this geography normally when fall arrives, to return when milder weather can be guaranteed by instinctive memory. What on Earth are they doing here now, and how do they manage to find enough to eat in this frozen environment?