Last week the snow melted out of the trees and we had some hoar frost days.
Another transformation is in process. It has been snowing continuously for two days where I live with my family up on a hill in Northwest Montana.
Small steady snow flakes keep falling—enveloping our home in a sheltering quiet.
I love the black lines of the snow covered branches. I am not sure why. I keep staring at them. Perhaps someday I will know. Taking photographs while out skiing or walking is an invitation for me to notice and engages me in a dialogue with the place where I am and the inner threads that beckon me. Sometimes an image is a stepping stone on a long path. These branch lines feel like they are just the beginning of journey that I don’t quite understand yet.
I saw these tracks last week and I don’t know what made them. Does anyone know? They were not more than about two inches long.
