Miniature rapids stubbornly rushing beneath tiny ice floes, impeded only by rough rocks and barren branches...
Frozen bubbles (refugees from the lips of sleeping turtles?) blooming underneath the icy surface of a lake, hollow reeds notwithstanding...
Traces of mysterious forces at work: a ceremonial ring and a cairn, primal reminders that humans passed this way...
A small island: safe haven for any creature who can reach it...
Peaceful and serene: unusually silent seagulls mingling with mouthy mallards and sanguine swans...
"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show." ~Andrew Wyeth
No, it sure doesn't, Mr. Wyeth...
A mossy log provides the only color on the ground besides brown and gray - one must look up to see the white rows of lichen, the breathless blue of sky...
"Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay -
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses."
~Charles Kingsley
How romantic, Mr. Kingsley!
1 comment:
What a great narrative to these winter photos!
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