More Winter Here Than There

I'm back from the land of Very Nice People in a Not Very Cold Place. I wish I had taken more pictures in the first part of the week, when there was Actual Snow on the ground, and when I was staying on a beautiful, remote ranch, far from city lights. Photo opportunities abounded: the shy cock pheasant tiptoeing around the spilled seed from the feeder, the luminous golden grasses, which glowed against sky, soil and snow. There were willows, with branches red in winter, and an oak which had golden yellow branches, both trees looking like basket material on the hoof. The clear, crisp weather was a delight, the air crystalline, and fresh. The night sky was intensely populated with stars. We drove on one outing up to the mountains, and then out into wide open spaces, rolling open hills and bluffs, with much sky, and long vistas of grasslands.

The latter half of my visit was snowless, also Not Very Cold, and I only remembered to take this one snapshot, of the view from my hostess Linda's backyard:



We spent a few days spinning silk and weaving bands, I ate more than my share of Montana's winter rations, and then, suddenly, I am home. To rain, and cold fog. I am sitting wrapped in my new mohair shawl, the fire going, hot tea in hand, and bean soup on the stove, all in an attempt to stave off bone-chilling cold. Irony? You decide.