A hymn to a winter’s day.
An abandoned beaver pond catches the evening sky.
Opalescent granite lines the tumbling course of Stickney Brook.
On days like this, I return to home.
The essence of the season.
The day begins with a hush and a promise.
A meeting place.
The confluence of change, world without end.
The day begins on a quiet note.
A convocation of the elements. For Merritt, a friend with eyes that gazed deeply.