Wednesday, December 18, 2019

MidWinter Dreams

Perfect white crystals piled on the railing outside my back door.

White crystals piled in a sheer slope, a (sort of) straight line edge atop.

Perfect domes on the posts.

Nature, what an engineer.

Monday morning.

The next morning:

Fog shrouded world beckons.

Black and white and gray.

Nature, what an artist.

I've always felt that fog was magical, I could step into the gray and through to a different place. So I went out into the misty winter morning, down to the pond covered in ice, covered in snow.

Was the spring flowing? I wondered. A long trek to the other side of the pond to check. But I trekked.

I was not the first one to pass this way -- deer tracks in the snow.

A patch of blackberry brambles. I tried to push my way through. Backed out and tried again.

OK. So that's why no deer tracks went through here. I find my way around, through tall grass buried in snow.

And there it is, where water seeps from the ground, over green moss-covered stones, at the base of the hill. An open place in the snow, a small stream of water, a bare flicker of movement. A bare flicker.

I recall the first time I saw this place... February... 15 degrees Fahrenheit... a world covered in snow. Water flowed so that I could hear it as I came down the hill on the other side of the pond.

Today, barely a flicker. December. Perhaps another day it will flow and fill the pool. But today it sleeps. Sleeps. Dreams.

Nature, what a dreamer.

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