The sun is shining for the first time in days and the light is perfect, clear. Makes me wish I was a photographer. Makes me wish my hands were not so shaky, so eager to gather up the images, quickly, greedily.

Here is today:

We have a great deal of moss here and I love it. No matter if the leaves have gone and snow fallen, it is there, bright green and alive, contrasting with the orange of the pine needles. Waiting to be uncovered and examined up close so that you can see its many fibers and how they cling to the light, add definition to the rocks.

And water is everywhere. At the end of my street, there’s a brook that is empty in summer but filled to nearly overflowing in the autumn and spring.

And in my yard there is a brook. When I opened the curtains one morning, in the dim light I saw what looked like a moose lying in the water. I stepped back, excited. Then I moved forward again and thought, “No, it’s a bear.” A bear. I moved closer to the glass and saw what it really was, the exposed underbelly of pine tree roots. The little tree had been growing atop a rock and in the strong wind it was knocked down.

And everywhere there are rocks. Foxes live here. We have seen them sitting, teasing each other, staring brazenly at anyone who comes nearby. Soon, their den will be covered with snow, drifting across the entrance, packing them in as they curl around each other.

But today, it was illuminated, made into an altar of stone and light.

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