On Christmas eve, just before dusk, I stood out on our deck and watched as several hundred geese flew over. They were heading south-west. They flew in groups of about sixty or seventy, or less, and were so close that I could hear the wind passing through their feathers.
But still it's warm - the rhododendrons hardly curl up their leaves at all, and though it rains, there is no ice. The ground is hard, but not truly frozen.