I needed some color today. A bouquet from the grocery store helped. So did the late afternoon sunshine. And the surprising similarity between my Heron metal sculpture and an Alstroemeria bloom gave me something to smile about. 
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Earlier this week, a rare snow serpent raised its hoary head in our front yard. Or perhaps it's a snowy version of a summer thundercloud, lit from behind. We still have plenty of snow on the ground, though next week's predicted warmer temperatures should keep it melting. Somewhere under the voluptuous snow below, there are snowdrop bulbs. I got curious about how things looked a year ago. The last four photos are from the front yard on February 17, 2013. There was a dusting of snow in the morning, but it melted by midday, and I found an eager-beaver dandelion in the grass, crocus shoots in the flowerbed and snowdrops beginning to bloom. A slightly different picture than we have this year -- those snowdrops are somewhere under the two feet of snow in the middle of the photo below. It's hard to imagine, but one day soon we'll be seeing them again. (This is called faith. Expectant faith -- a good thing to have any time of year.) 
from 2013 -- but we'll see this year's version once the snow melts.
Here's a mystery. Most of the tracks in our yard are easy to figure out -- the patterns of bird feet under the feeder, the rabbit crossing from here to there, the squirrel bounding from the maple to the feeder and back again, the cat that prowls the edges. But what is the story behind the photo above? Apparently one night a rabbit hopped out to the middle of the yard, danced crazily for a few moments and then lopped away to the protective cover of the privet. And then there's sunshine and shadow on snow, and the light-catching crystals of hoarfrost on dried plants. 
I'm looking out my windows on this sunny winter day and enjoying the light and patterns. The garage windows are colder, and Jack Frost has been busy. Inside, I'm looking through the angles and patterns of a couple different glass cruets. 
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My approach to contemplative photography --
"Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Mary Oliver in "Sometimes" Archives
August 2020
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