For all the new white stuff deposited this week and our weariness of it, there are still bits of gnarly magic poking their way out of it here and there, potent suggestions that it is not the seasons that "get old", but we who are bearing witness to them.
It is our all-too-human perceptions that totter and wither and fade, and we need reminders of the earth's own wonder and magic and infinite change from time to time, in this case just a strand of milkweed with arty curves and deep blue shadows.
Now if I could just locate the bird bath in the garden - it has vanished completely.
March 2, 2013
resting easy in brush and lens