In unmistakable “be careful what you ask for” fashion the weather gods have seen fit to lower the temperatures in the park to a level well past “brisk”, “invigorating” or even “thermally challenging”. We have now officially reached the Jack London Zone, when the wind chill reaches negative degrees (Fahrenheit, thank you, none of that wussy centigrade stuff) and it takes a bookmark to keep track of which layer of clothing your wallet’s in.In fact it is now so cold that my daily run around the reservoir has become abbreviated not because of the air temperature, but because the frozen track is now just as unforgiving a running surface as the park drive and my left knee is left with only wistful memories of cartilage The one redeeming quality of this arctic interlude is the extraordinary clarity of the night sky above the park. You can actually see a few stars, while the moon has that brightly etched lunar face that you usually only see in the opening credits of the “Honeymooners”.The problem is trying to see all this while hopping up and down to keep warm.