Our path leads down the hill through the woods and then opens into a wide, flat hollow, carved through by a wet weather creek, which today is only a puddle. As we step out of the woods, the wind catches us by surprise; the cold it brings penetrates to the bone and exhilarates the senses. Barley feels it too, and he lifts his nose to investigate.
Across the hollow we slip into the woods and follow an ancient roadbed past the sparse remnants of a one room log cabin. Ahead of us the road is littered with fragile white frost flowers.
The largest of these etherial beauties is about 8 inches tall, and they won't be here long. Before the sun is high, between evaporation and melting, they disappear. But not forever. The moisture will return to the ground in the form of rain and snow, which recharges the plants, and the cycle will begin again.
Textures by Leslie Nicole
