Shining Through

Is this place an ocean or a desert in winter? I am never sure which, but either way, there is always something to feast one's eyes on and capture with the lens. Old window panes, heaps of books, bowls of fruit and cups of tea, it's all good. Isn't a little uncertainty a good thing, every now and then?

Before the first snow of the season falls, I always wonder how I am going to survive without autumn's shapes and fiery colors, and I feel a vague anxiety contemplating the monochromatic weeks and months to come. Shame on me for harboring such morose and mutinous thoughts. I should know better.

There are patterns here everywhere, all related to liquid turnings and sparkling transformations: feathery patterns in river ice as it forms, glossy icicles suspended from trees along the shore, frosty field grasses waving their silvery heads, beads of water falling in the garden and freezing in midair, fallen leaves channeling light and frozen crystals shining through them. Everything my cronish eye alights on is food for eyes and lens and thought, a good thing since I am still not able to wander as far as I would like to.

Absent the vibrant and earthy colors dancing on my palette at other times of the year, winter's offerings are a commonwealth of swirling shapes and motifs, each and every one exquisite. Even pale sunlight shining through the kitchen window in a friend's farmhouse beguiles and enchants.