Light on Snow

 The sunlight caught my eye this morning as it illuminated the snow and woods, bringing to light patches of glory.  But if I shared my pictures with you, would you see it too?

Can you see the early morning light, the snow so fresh and white it looks blue, the rough beauty of my sleeping trees?

 This, my urban forest home, shelters and sustains wildlife right outside my door.  Can you see the beauty here, or is it marred by the chair in the woods, the homes seen through the trees?

 Beauty reigns here, but it must be sought, distractions pushed aside.  It may not be easily seen and yet, it peeks through whenever I focus my eyes and heart properly.  I grab camera again, now that the sun is higher, but wary of disturbing the birds, shoot through the screen door.  I love the colours, the textures.  I have many similar pictures because I can't stop falling in love with the light on bark, snow and needles.

 Among the branches perches a small bird, who pecks at tree and then darts away to the feeder. It is hard to follow with my zoom so high and frustrating, so I balance not-quite-healed elbow against doorframe, hold steady and shoot.  My lips can't stop smiling for the beauty of this cold and snowy sunlit day.

 I shoot several frames, but the camera refuses to focus on the bird instead capturing the exquisite texture of the bark.  How can it be that the roughness captures my heart and I fall in love with bark over and over again?  The texture of my trees catches me whenever I take the time to look.  What is this beauty in front of me?  And which is odder; my love of bark or my ignorance of it in my everyday haste?

 I switch to the feeder, but struggle to get a good shot.  Birds are flighty, liking variety, wanting to move back and forth to keep warm in this cold.  The branches provide perfect opportunities for little jaunts, especially between them and the replenished source of food.

 How I love brillant February days!  Cold is not my friend, but this beauty of crisp snow, stark trees and winter-fluffed birds under the bright sun causes my heart to sing.   The bird flies back to the shelter of the trees, nestled between branches, backdropped by the brillant sky.

 Can you see my bird hiding there?  He continues to fly back and forth, the sun continues to shine rendering my yard ever more beautiful, but my fingers begin to turn blue, so I shut the door to this front yard wonderland.  But it lingers still, waiting for those rare moments in which I will stop, open my eyes and appreciate this splendor that God has made.

 Joining with Imperfect Prose