Sunday morning. December 17. It is half past eight and my wife is still asleep when I set off for a walk. The sky is bright indicating that in 15-20 minutes the sun can be seen.
Opening the front door I notice that the lawn is a little bit white; and so is the roof of the neighbouring house, telling me that during the night it has been freezing.
I anticipate that the temperature is now about 2-3 degrees (Celsius), at least my hands soon feel a bit cold, but the pockets of my short windbreaker are too small to accommodate them, and my kilt has no such ones, of course. Well, nothing to do about it and after some minutes I get accustomed to it.

On my feet I have traditional kilt hose and boots and when I leave our road to enter the woods they prove themselves to be most practical, the paths being muddy after days of raining.

I meet a few other people, running, bicycling or just walking, like myself. Some of them are greeting, others have enough in their own business. Apart from my wife’s former medical doctor (she no longer practises) walking her little dog and who is smiling at me I don’t know any of them. Perhaps they know who I am?
After an hour I return home. In the meantime my wife has prepared breakfast. It’s a good day. Another good day.

And by the way, and that’s what I had in mind to say: Not for one moment I felt cold in my kilt. Had I been wearing trousers my windbreaker might have been too lightweight and my hands had been colder. It’s simply a question of balancing things, I believe.

Have a nice week, all of you, out there.

GG