The golden lines, lit up from only one direction or full face on... the glints and small patches where it is like a fire is present, and all of the dark branching silhouettes where there is darkness but form and structure against the contrast.
The color of the light pushed me to return to the house, and grab the camera. And gloves, and a scarf. My glasses were so fogged up, I had to leave them in my pocket and capture the colors and the shadows to tell as much of the tale for me as I could.
I knew that there were things to be seen at thirty degrees that just do not show up later, at fifty, sometimes even at thirty-three.
And I grabbed the better camera, the one that sees better than my own eyes, to try to capture the snow crystals forming/settling on the spider webs of the fairy houses. Even with this camera, you can barely see the threads, very up close.. and that is how you know what you are actually seeing.
Shadows in the strength of the sun, colors that only show up in the gloss and sheen of frost and wet melting under the heat of sunshine.
And now I am watching red birds and their mates skitter through the cedar trees outside my dirty window, sun glinting off of them and the branches they dance through, gleaming and flashing. Even after a long winter they are still finding things to eat, to argue over, dashing to the ground beneath for a quick sort through the leaves.. cardinals and redstarts and others, congregating.
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