“The artist and the photographer seek the mysteries and the adventure of experience in nature.”

~ Ansel Adams

Quite cold. Just me and Charlie, the sun coming up over the river. We spend time at the brook examining ice. One of my feet breaks through and gets wet. If not for this, I would stay longer looking at the patterns in the ice, taking pictures of the pictures the ice spontaneously makes. This mindfulness brings peace and serenity, and energy too. After my walk, I go for a swim for the first time in a long time and it feels terrific. Why have I waited so long? Today I write a guest blog about writing from winter photos. My dear friend comes by, we sit by the fire and I light candles for a long talk. Then my youngest comes home, unexpectedly, and joins in. Then, the task I wasn’t sure we’d fit into the next week, I couldn’t see how we’d make it happen, can happen now. Frank finishes work, and we have time, the three of us, to pick out the Christmas tree. I didn’t want to do it without her. She’s the one who finds the best trees always. So, we drive to the place where we buy our wreaths and garlands and she checks them all, she studies all the trees, and finds our perfect one. We like our tree tall and filled out. We have a festive feeling, driving home. And, there is more magic. All of the kids and partners are available for dinner. We gather around the table. and feel the holiday season: the warmth and laughter and gratitude and togetherness. I hear, outside the window, the stead thrum of the rain falling onto the ice and snow, washing it away. This morning, the moon beamed into the room from a cloudless sky and woke me well before dawn and I was glad to greet the new day.