F
inding beauty in the winter
garden is as much about
perception as substance.
The
absolute purity of fresh snow transforms the landscape.
Like icing on a
cake, it highlights the graceful form of
a tree—the thick, drooping branches
of a Catalpa tree, or...
More
F
inding beauty in the winter
garden is as much about
perception as substance.
The
absolute purity of fresh snow transforms the landscape.
Like icing on a
cake, it highlights the graceful form of
a tree—the thick, drooping branches
of a Catalpa tree, or the broad, dark
majesty of an oak.
Snow preserves
the animal encounters we missed—
the squirrel’s leaping stride from
tree to excavated cache and back, or
the whisper of an owl’s wings as it
snatches a hare.
Sound, too, becomes
so crisp and clear in the winter,
whether it is squeaky snow underfoot
on the coldest days or the crack of of a
breaking icicle.
For me, the ultimate
pleasure, however, is the silence, the
absolute stillness after a fresh snow.
But when I think of the special
allure of winter’s light, that now
becomes the ultimate joy.
The soft,
pearl-like quality of winter light alters
the landscape, from the surreal shafts
of light slicing through the tree
canopy’s bare branches, to the long
shadows dancing on a wall.
B
Less