We’ve been in a deep freeze. Weather changes are coming, I can feel it in my hardware.
The Resident Teen also suffers, but there is no rhyme or known reason for when his setbacks occur.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –That perches in the soul –And sings the tune without the words –And never stops – at all –And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –And sore must be the storm –That could abash the little BirdThat kept so many warm –I’ve heard it in the chillest land –And on the strangest Sea –Yet – never – in Extremity,It asked a crumb – of me.by Emily Dickinson
Beautiful photos of frost. And I needed that poem, that particular one.
I’m a winter person, and although sometimes it gets to be a struggle (driving, stuck in traffic icy roads) it is a most beautiful collection of nature’s finest! Your words are just as lovely as your photos!
Thank you! I do hope you realize that Emily Dickinson gets the credit for most of those words today.
Winter is HARD to survive. I like the frost and the sparkle, though.