Sun is sleepy this morning and won’t get out of the cloud cover. While light slumbers the ice is matte white, and the landscape appears as a cold haze, like I’m not awake either. Dog is not sleeping, therefore she is running, she will not mind if I am dreaming, as long as she can run. In the midst of my uncertainty concerning wakefulness, I find the bonfire Mr was constructing yesterday. Some people merely place wood in a pile, but Mr has made a precise and clever structure. I admire the central twists, twigs curved around and splaying out like a nervous system, and the slender branch exoskeleton. If the winter white represents a laboratory, here is a new species, if it is an art gallery, here is a new exhibit. The fields boundaries, in spite of Mr tidying the hedgerows, remain vague.