The long white season has its own wisdoms, tales to tell and truths to reveal. It writes its own words and music and sings them, its voice rising and falling across snowbound hills, fields and a thousand and one places deemed too desolate for attention, but wonderfully alive in their frozen shapes and textures nevertheless.
Sometimes, the best thing one can do is just be silent and let the images speak (or sing) for themselves - turn the wild cantadora loose to do her own thing and not give in to the urge to describe everything in front of one's eyes.
Nature has a voice infinitely more tuneful and eloquent than this old woman with her camera and notebook, and she, (Nature that is) knows best how to work with this artful ice, these frozen leaves.
December 10, 2012
resting easy in brush and lens