by underswansea


Another cold day of minus 20. There was moisture turning to frost above the creek. It was on every branch. Hanging like tiny sculptures. I wished for a macro lens. The flakes were exquisite! Willow ran wild knocking them off. They sounded like rain when they hit the snow. Animals, usually silent, could be heard scurrying. Birds, as well, landing on a branch. Willow and I took our time.