By the marshes

[puddleshark]

A grey, cold morning, the fog not lifting. Along the forest tracks, water cannot make up its mind whether to be liquid or solid: some puddles ice, some puddles water. The far distance cannot make up its mind whether to exist.

On the path down to the marshes:









Along the marshes, silence. Not a bird calling. Not a reed rustling.














I was feeling a bit better yesterday, and thought some fresh air might do me good this morning, clear this cold from my sinuses. But the still air that brought us fog, also brought us poor air quality. Even out in the forest, the air smelling faintly of landfill and burnt plastic.

Comments

[bleodswean]

And here I've been admiring your spring and summer photos - you're a winter girl through and through! These are astonishingly beautiful and so quiet and deep and very thoughtful. Thank you for sharing!

[puddleshark]

Thank you!

I've always thought that, in some ways, winter is the most beautiful season: the landscape stripped to bare bones and geometries.

But the low light is not kind to photographers!