Our current house, "Foggygates", is sited so that we get nice views at both ends of the day. This is the view looking east- sunrise is often spectacularly-hued, and this is also where the fog comes from when it comes up from the river and rolls across the fields. This is that view after a snowstorm last year.
The silent winter fog steals in,
River’s breath, the color of gin;
Creeping, peeking,
Oozing, sneaking,
Stealing through the iron branches;
Icy water drip drip drip.
The barn was there,
And now it’s gone;
Smothered, swallowed, by the gauze.
Silvery, silken puffs just linger;
Cottony death,
with ice-cold fingers.
Now up above
The sun cracks through,
Shooting golden, molten hues
Cotton ghosts dissolve and flee,
Barn and tree and I are free
To see the last cold fingers die.
While overhead
the first hawks fly.
At the other end of the day, the sunsets are almost always worth watching-
5 comments:
Reminds me of an old story: "Scenery? How can you tell? There are too many trees in the way!"
Very purty. (But I'm still sick to death of winter. Winter is welcome to go fuck itself at the first opportunity.)
Winter. I missed Winter last year. I say, let it come. I am so tired of being hot (as Paris said to the Bishop).
Those are some great views Colonel, but for the sake of sanity, don't you have any summer pictures?
Catalyst- I know. And they shed leaves like crazy. We're going to cut them down and replace them with plastic ones that we can fold up.
Phoebe- I usually am by now too, but this year Winter didn't really start until February, so it's a little better.
Cissy- Even Paris would have to put on a few clothes around here now.
Mike- the summer ones aren't as interesting -it's all green.
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