Stepping outside - cold breath stings.
For days now, the land down low is hushed,
while above ice-bound branches
play a forest chorus
with winter wind.
While I wait for the new studio heater,
the frozen land astonishes me.
My snowshoes are sometimes short in distance,
but long in duration as I lean in close
to the magic of winter ice.
A birdbath wears a funny snow-hat.
I think I've already brushed it clean
once or twice!
Two snowstorms this week, and maybe
another on the way, I wonder when the snow
mountain in the driveway will melt in spring?
My sister and I were remembering our snow caves
carved into the side of a hill. This pile would
be a perfect pile for a cave.
I'm now throwing snow up and over the side of the path,
else it tumble back down to my toes. A generous
season of snow for Western Mass, though
its nothing compared to some northern climes.
Luckily, I'm still loving it, but
I'm hearing grumblings from
folks here and there.
One such person is Pasha cat. He was excited
about the relative warmth today, so came outside
with me while I shoveled. Dashing up the tree he
went, oh so excited to be out and free!
On the way back down, still having fun.
Oooops, that snow pile was much deeper than expected.
Having practically disappeared in the snow,
I just couldn't contain my laughing.
I wasn't met with an agreeable look.
The remainder of my snow shoveling was observed
from the window.
I can't say whether the avalanche of snow
the wind released from the tree above me
had anything to do with the spectator in
Ah well, I survived. I was wearing my
thick wool dreadlock hat.
I wish the dreads would grow....
Out and about earlier in the week,
my camera sits in for a paintbrush,
capturing moments of golden light
and winter inspiration.
The last of the light brings in high drama.
I am spellbound, walking and freezing in the subzero
windchill, camera clicking away.
How much these last three are like my painting,
"Gold Afternoon", above in the sidebar.
Wandering the land at the edge of the day,
my cauldron fills with inspiration.
Iced mornings and fiery skies at dusk -
how can I keep from singing?