So quiet and subtle is the beauty of December that escapes the notice of many people their whole lives through. Colour gives way to form: every branch distinct, in a delicate tracery against the sky. New vistas, obscured all Summer by leafage, now open up.
Flora Thompson
Missouri Mist
It is morning in Missouri.
Overnight a fog crept into the field
where I slept,
soaking the earth,
dripping from the barbed wire,
clinging like diamonds
to a tuft of grass caught there,
coating the trees - delineating
every darkened limb
against the blue grey sky.
I walk into the mist
along a lonely farm road
and these bare beauties
emerge one by one-
disappearing
as I pass
quietly,
cloaked in solitude.
November 29, 2022 - Fennville, Michigan. It has been gray and cold today. I decided to look for small beauties - like these berries and the dried buds and wildflowers that follow.
December 3, 2022 - Fennville, MI - The golden sun was out again today, after a few days of clouds. When it set, I saw a pretty little fallen limb of pine on the beach and thought I would like to see how it would light up the needles if I could get a picture through them. It was windy, and I had to kneel in the sand, but I really liked the result.
December 8, 2022 - Robber’s Cave State Park - Oklahoma. This is the first night I’ve been able to see the moon at night on this trip. Haloed and hallowed. I love the way the bare limbs seem to be reaching out for it.