There was much debate among weather forecasters but they all agreed about one thing: early morning was the time to be out and about if you wanted to catch the best of the day. So, taking their advice to the extreme, I was out before sunrise when there was still a little frost on the ground.
According to my father, who had the information from his grandfather, when rooks stay near the farm bad weather is to be expected. Our neighbourhood rooks also seemed to be undecided and wheeled noisily and argumentatively overhead, some intent on heading south while others favoured feeding grounds nearer to home.
I hoped the home-loving rooks were wrong because I intended following the footpaths towards Fowlmere nature reserve. My steps led to Shepreth Moor, a little remnant of the old agricultural practice of using such badly-drained land as rough grazing.
Modern farming methods don't leave any land untouched, but they do give rise to much used and disused machinery.
Here comes the sun! Blazing in from just above the horizon and throwing golden light on the winter grasses alongside the little brook.
So on I went, concentrating on the little details of landscape rather than the wider picture.
A little ivy plant growing next to the sawn end of felled branch.
The rich textures of rotting wood - I took dozens of photos of fallen wood; the dampness of the melting frost bringing out the colours and patterns.
Finally I arrived at Fowlmere with its reed beds and alder trees. The alders were providing food for large flocks of finches. The sun had passed behind the encroaching bank of cloud which set the tone for the rest of the day.