No ice.

Usually, if we are lucky enough to have thick ice on the pond--thick enough for skating--it will arrive in January. Ice skates tower in boxes on the top shelf of our coat closet. Black skates, white skates, figure skates, hockey skates--we have them all, in all sizes. Perched precariously, waiting for the day we may excitedly lift them down--and walk, wobbly-footed out onto the pond, to skate under Orion's watchful care.

But, this week's balmy weather roared through the house like a bellows--we won't have ice for skating any time soon.

The warmth lets me linger a little more on the trails, and look a bit further than a brisk walk allows.
Without the distraction of leaves and colorful grasses, these under-appreciated lives take center stage.





Bright, rich color.
Texture and delicacy.
Geometry.

Lichens--layers of life, sharing space.

And, even in January, a spider.

I don't believe ice-skating is in the stars.