I pass the occasional family come out to gawp at the snow and feed seagulls and the slightly sad swan family -- now reconciled and back to begging for bread together -- but other than that it's just me and whatever is out there that morning; a robin, bold in the cold, a flock of long-tailed tits twittering in the birch trees. A thrush, scooting under the hedge like a rat as I pass. Magpies and crows, always; and of course the riverine throng of gulls, ducks, geese, roosting in the water until morning lifts enough to be worth a forage.
Sometimes a confident mountain-biker shoots past my elbow or a very tough jogger comes by, with that painfully slow gait that cold weather and ice underfoot provokes. If you listen towards the end of this one, a jogger passes; the birds don't miss a note. You might need to turn up your volume, it's quiet.
