Frost

The grass outside is white with frost for a second morning in a row. The field in front of the house is glinting white in the first light; if you were from northern parts you'd be forgiven for thinking it's snow.
The sun has not yet risen, but I'm lying in bed writing my mining pages. I have lit the fire and it's roaring warmth is heating my body, mind and spirit.
The newspaper, except for a few tweaks, was wrapped by 21h00 last night, but with much fun and laughter; I am assembling a team of fine, good people.
It's another beautiful day in the heart of Mpumalanga.