The lake was overflowing that day, but this traveler seemed to think the conditions were perfect.
Geese fly through a cold winter sky. There’s a hush in the air. The grey clouds are heavy, laden with snow, but yet it resists the Fall. I wait, watching, anticipating it’s arrival, but only the wind touches my face. I can feel winter’s cold hand. It grazes my cheek, but will not wrap me in its white robes, will not envelop me with its embrace. I have been here waiting, from the sun’s bright ascent to the close of the day, but it does not fall. Winter’s snow holds back from me, like a reticent sparrow, peeking from the trees, unmoving yet aware, unsure of my intentions, though I offer only love.
The Hermit Thrush guards a small nook in the moss covered rocks. Jumping behind ferns, it becomes a blur; a rustling shadow, a yellow light. What fairy land does it protect? Where does it go? Of what places does it know? Hidden behind the green, moving among the unseen, a ghost bird beckons us softly, cautiously showing the way.
Cardinal searches for food by local church. Green moss and grass made for a very “Christmas-like” color combo. Taken Dec. 20. The snow came a few days later.