It's January, and at this time of year, the lake should be ice-covered, but it's 68 degrees Fahrenheit out today. Christmas has come and gone; today is the day of Epiphany, the first day of Carnival season in some countries; but it still feels like November here in the Boston area.
A pair of mute swans, Cygnus olor, in Cutler Lake.
Here, where all should be entombed in ice, I hear what sound very much like spring peepers (Pseudacris crucifer) calling. If they are indeed peepers, they are more than two months early; if not, it must be some kind of bird.
The woodland paths are still covered with fallen autumn leaves.
The lake looms in the distance.
Here is an ancient portal to the underworld. I don't know who made it or for what purpose, but it is filled with dirt and old leaves.