She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable?”
Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child
This weekend’s foot of snow has given the Michigan landscape a white frosting, but the ephemeral nature of our weather ensures that its presence will be fleeting. Before it disappears, come walk with me across an icy stream and along a woodland trail.
There is a waterfall in every dream. Cool and crystal clear, it falls gently on the sleeper, cleansing the mind and soothing the soul.
A tour of Michigan would be incomplete without pausing along the way to listen to the music of waterfalls, from a gentle stream near my home to the crescendo of a roaring river in the forest primeval of the Upper Peninsula.
A sentiment that comes to mind as winter lingers, with the expectation of spring waiting beyond the horizon. The same might apply to politics and culture in the United States, dominated as it is by antagonism. For now, patience in tribulation more closely fits our predicament.
Deer through the seasons in my corner of Michigan. They are always curious, but ever vigilant. For the photographer, this translates into having a few seconds to capture them in an alert pose, muscles taut, before they bolt into the woods.