New-fallen snow at 32. The ridgetops are frosted, I gather by an inch, but down here, it’s only slushy windshields. So much for the first snowstorm of January—yet something is different with the birds today, nevertheless. At 7:10, a Mourning Dove flies from its roost beyond the creek, over my head and west. I’ve seen one or two come this direction, but not at dawn. They usually fly directly up to the mountains or beyond, and mostly I don’t see them at all. I think mostly they depart when it’s still dark.