A drip. An icicle, the shimmering light reflecting on tiny shards of ice, packed into a multitude of "snow".
So cold that your face feels like an imposed mask after just a few minutes out there and it starts to ache and make you want to curdle yourself under the thickest possible blanket in the house.
But things are just the way they are. It is February. There has been colder, and also warmer, February days I suppose. This is just winter. Just that.
Two curious eyes and a tiny singing voice. Her sweet lavender smell bounces off in big whiffs as she comes near you. Her singing voice full of altos, rhythm, laughter.
Here you are Ewa, what shall we do?
Ewa looks at me with her eyes full of light and says: "Why, we ride of course!".
And so we did.