A small girl in pink crocs flits past a tree that probably dates from colonial times. Over the centuries, its roots have painstakingly spread from its massive trunk, while generations of humans have beaten a path around it. A parade of humanity has intersected with this tree over time. Imagine the ghosts!
The dearth of snow has made me nostalgic, so much so that I’ve taken to lingering over old photographs of the properly wintry scenes we’ve often enjoyed. Winter has many colors, but, if white isn’t among them, the others are less lovely. Snow is necessary to the beauty of the blotched and riddled bark on the trunk of a tree.
It sets off the greeny beauty of the hardy moss and lichens.
Snow gives the puddle a mod, abstract look that I wish a painter would capture for me . . .
and makes subtle hues pop, enlivening the bare grey boughs of the trees.
I wish for the satisfaction of seeing some snow fall soon!