All morning a thick mist rose into the air off the iced-in river, a hazy, shifting wall of fog between us and the opposite shore. The air above the river is warmer than the ice and laden with moisture. Spring-like air. Hence, the mist. From the pines beyond, a pileated woodpecker has been calling sporadically, loudly. His odd laughter, combined with the dense mist, have lent an eerie quality to the river as observed from the climate-controlled comfort of my office. Now, a bank of clouds rolls away eastward and the river ice, exposed at last to sunlight, shines.
Still-frozen river
giving up winter's ghost--
February mist.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment