The plastic ice scraper rasps on the windshield, noisily echoing across the lawns.
My breath ghosts across the tinted glass e rasing lacy patterns left by the bitter cold from the night before.
Cheap dollar store gloves let cold air bite my fingers, giving less then their value. Sitting on the truck seat makes me realize that the cold reaching along my legs, driving into my toes, and fingers, isn’t my imagination. The engine catches, and roars, idle for only the barest of minutes, it will warm up as I go along my way. Despite the second thoughts of will there be anything to take photos of, is this worth it, I take the turn off the highway towards the lake.
Driving out on the coldest day of this Autumn, the sun feels warm through the drivers side window, but that might be nothing more then wishful thinking. Most likely it’s the engine warming up and throwing heat, not the sun.
Crispy diamonds scattered along the side of the road cover dead grass, and bare branches, as if someone roaring by on their way to work had tossed a jar of glitter out the window of their vehicle. They shine, and sparkle like a child’s tiara, I want to stop and take photos of them, but the narrow winding road is too dangerous to pull over on.
The once brilliant trees from “The morning the sun rose twice” blog post shots are bare, and bleak, there is little color in the thin, muddy tinged ice of the lake. No ducks this early morning, no cows mooing to be milked, they are still in the barns, no birds fighting over seeds, all is still this morning. The geese have yet to arrive, or maybe the swans have left, only to return this winter.
Hoar frost glitters like coarse sugar crystals, coating anything it can stick to, deep, and thick, it’s white and beautiful. Breath comes out in shadowy gusts, as I climb back up the hill, skin prefers a covering, and the camera’s battery fades with the chill, which makes it a good idea to finish and leave quickly.
I circle back through the avenue of overhead trees, small town edged with train tracks, onto the highway. The winter tires purr on the pavement, the cold wind whistles as it strokes the paint of my truck.
Detours beckon more then breakfast calls, the truck is warm, the sun is out, it’s time to make the most of the morning. Parking on the side of the road next to the barren fields, I roll my eyes at the shiny, giant blue, and white plastic marshmallows containing hay for cows, because they have spoiled a favourite place to shoot, although I am sure the cows don’t care.
Small birds skip from tree to bush, clumps of flighty feathers, and chirps. The sun threatens to melt the hoar frost that covers the bull rushes, it’s time to go back and see what I have captured.
The rest will have to wait for another day of beckoning sunlight.
