The year is newly-minted and starting on a frigid note. We bottomed out at 11 degrees and Jack Frost went to work on some of our windows, converting humidity to exquisite etchings on the outside of the glass.
This shot is through the north window in Mom's bedroom, looking towards the woodpile and meadow. It's perhaps the coldest window in the house, exposed to the northwest winter wind. This morning there were beautiful feathery lines etched across the pane that almost took my breath away. Nature's artist is not proud, lays his lines thinking no one will see. And then I walk by to place a receipt in the desk and his hidden work is revealed.
Take a closer look at the icy thread through the middle of the pane. It is feathery as an ostrich's tail, intricate and pure as the snow from which it formed, threaded upon invisible nuclei that adhered themselves to the glass in the grandest of fashions.
Why should we pay to see man's artwork when nature draws such grand themes? This is the artist that draws me to his canvas.