Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? Or are ye angels, bearing home The host unseen Of truant spirits, to be clad Again in green? ~John B. Tabb, “Phantoms”
Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? Or are ye angels, bearing home The host unseen Of truant spirits, to be clad Again in green? ~John B. Tabb, “Phantoms”
5/52 It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it. ~John Burroughs, “Winter Sunshine”
4/52 But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli
3/52 This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. ~William Wordsworth
2/52 What a severe yet master artist old Winter is…. No longer the canvas and the pigments, but the marble and the chisel. ~John Burroughs, “The Snow-Walkers,” 1866
Hi There! I thought for this year I’d like to share new photo(s) I’ve taken on Fridays. The past couple of years I’ve been painting a lot but, I need to exercise my photog muscles more. 1/51 When Gav comes home from school he usually drops his stuff, has a peek into the fridge, then …
Kathleen Rear 