I know it is cold as soon as I wake, there is a stillness, the natural world holding its breath in anticipation of sun rise.

Stepping outside, a radiant full moon conducts its final inspection before sinking slowly behind the outstretched fingers of the ancient oaks. The sky, a deep, steel blue, patently cradles heavy clouds.

Then, down on the shore, a mist rises from crystal clear waters, undisturbed by engine or paddle. A herron waits.

A single white cloud stretches lazily across the mountain tops, its extremities tinged with the perfect pink of the morning sun.