I have to start taking my camera to the bus stop.
Pine needles etched in white relief against the soil.
Green mossy mountain peaks capped with snow.
Peaks and valleys of meadow grass filled with frost.
A large oak leaf the color of cowboy boots, its stem pinched between pink mittened fingers, the snow crumbling and peeling away in the wind as it bends.
But then there are the things that can’t be captured with a lens.
The great rushing of wind through the treetops.
The force of it demanding spine erect, shoulders back.
A tingling of the checks, a tear in the eye, a crisp, fresh burn
that makes life seem new,
the morning full of possibility,
the body full of life.
* On an somewhat related note: I found many gorgeous pictures of frost on moss by many talented photographers. I, however, did not have the heart to steal them, though they would have accompanied my musings perfectly. I also learned a lot about BFFs Sadie Frost and Kate Moss.