Here is a collection of images I have taken of plants and landscapes the past days as winter descends and the first frost arrives.
It happened last night.
Woke up this morning and winter had snuck in. Winter! And I had not yet even finished the requisite autumnal post.
Spring, summer, fall and winter…all have their individual tastes and arrive each year with their own uniquenesses.
In the northern hemisphere, now in 2018, we are making the transition between fall and winter. All of you have your own memories and interpretations of these seasonings. I doubt there is a right or wrong.
But the other day, the mountains around my home revealed a certain kind of smorgasbord seasoning, grace to elevation changes. What? What do I mean to say?
On one day, I experienced a very unique variety of seasonings. Full blown winter and full blown fall, completely independent of each other, within less than an hour of each other, again grace to their elevational difference. And, the best for last, something very special above them all.
It is all about the landscape. I hope you can enjoy these images.
The end of the day, the beginning of tomorrow.
The end of the old year, the beginning of the new year.
The end of the winter, the beginning of spring.
In the Northern Hemisphere all of these have resonant overlays.
The last weeks have been cold. The ground has frozen but not covered with snow. Winter is heavily just around the corner. It has its beauties, its discoveries; but it inevitably drags before it finishes. That is when I kling to the hopes of spring.
Kenneth Grahame—consummate observer of nature and seasonal changes in ‘The Wind in the Willows’—captures those spring hopes in reality through his character ‘Mole’. In the attached audio file, I read 90 seconds of Kenneth Grahame’s work wherein he describes how Mole becomes overwhelmed by excessive joy in the arrival of spring.
Mole embodies how we all endure the long winter—endure the hard life without the warmth and light of the sun. And, how we all feel such joy and relief in those first warm days of spring, when, in the meadow, hopes come true.
At 2,300 meters above sea level, with the west-north-west wind rasping my face, chilling me colder by the second, I stood firmly and saw how…