Spikes on Spokes
As much as I love the winter, there are the dark days. I am not talking about the high gray clouds that block the sun, not the days that give some people up North a syndrome called SAD (Seasonal Aptitude Disorder). I am talking about days, seemingly on end, trapped in a cold cloud. Visability..about 10 feet.These are the days that the frost takes on it own bloom. You take your pleasure in the magic that happens just a few feet in front of you.
Dead weeds that really never saw a summer glory take on white clusters of spinney blooms.
There are no icicles. There has to be above freezing temperatures for that to occur, but a frosty crocheted lace attaches to the eves of roof.
Any inorganic objects take on a new texture: A woven rope becomes a spiked thorny texture.
A bicycle wheel collects icy thorns.
And trees, the trees as beautiful as 
they are, flocked in white, begin to strain under the weight of winters “bloom”.
they are, flocked in white, begin to strain under the weight of winters “bloom”. posted by DADO at
6:18 AM
3 Comments:
Wow! AMAZING! Who wrote that? It sounds WAYYYYY too poetic to have been DAD-O!!
By
Lilwrig, At
February 13, 2009 1:54 PM
CLEARLY the prose not written by Dad-O! Lynda took the pictures, I liked the one of the bicycle wheel and started to post it with some clever comment like...'isn't this neat!?'
Lynda took over and wrote what was published. I only take credit for picture arrangement on the web site.
She still wanted some editing done (another picture or two added), but it could have been spring before it was published. :o) So you got it as you see it.
By
DADO, At
February 15, 2009 6:44 AM
These photographs are beautiful - and I love Lynda's accompanying text.
It's warm and sunny here (Andalucia has a lot in common with Southern California) but I can feel the chill.
By
sylvia, At
February 18, 2009 2:53 AM
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