I have always been drawn to trees, especially in the winter when the bare branches reveal their structure, tracing a web against the sky, casting shadows on the ice, or framing the landscape with their outstretched limbs.
I am also fond of the creatures that seek their shelter, though trees can’t offer much protection in the teeth of a blizzard. The squirrel perches on the lee side of a tree trunk, and tries in vain to cover his back with his tail as it blows in the wind, the dove endures icy flakes that sticks to her breast, and snow piles up on the backs of the geese as they hug the shore.
And I never tire of looking at the pond in its endless variety of winter guises: frozen solid so there is no way for the swans to feed, or whipped up into angry waves by fierce storms, then still as a mirror to reflect the lights of the town at night.
Inside, looking out my windows, I wait to capture these winter moments.