too bad

Do the walk in the morning, all is sodden and icy. It is a sum total of nine kilometres  past what are now bare trees. They are all dormant, waiting for spring. The piano of the oxen is clear in it's function now. Covered in slippery slush as it is, no hoofed animal would make it safely up there other than a mountain goat. The ridges of brick every thirty centimetres would stop any bovine slippage.

It is grey cold and foggy, and the way is slippery. On the second part of the walk, up the Carossahöhe, the slushy snow shows only one other pair of human footprints. There are also those of a dog.                                                                                                                                                                                                              

The café is the high point of the day, the coffee is good.

At home, depression really sets in, and there are the beginnings of a head cold now.

This is all too bad.