It isn’t difficult to admire winter when a soft snow is falling. But when Arctic air is blowing in your face or down your neck, it’s significantly harder to see the positives.

The birds have tucked themselves away into bushes and brambles. They streak out to the feeder or the suet block then dodge right back in. They need warmth and, even more to the point, they need water.

But water is coming, I read in the forecast. Rising temperatures will take us out of the deep freeze, and rain (what else?!) will greet us on the other side.

It’s the kind of morning that sets my teeth chattering, but what can I do about it? It’s January. The bulbs and buds are sleeping. To everything, a season.