Our third day under ice was the sunniest so far. I took my camera up into the field to try and capture some of what I’d seen yesterday, much of it blurred as my niece and I hurtled past on my old runner sled.
Even with a dusting of snow, a layer of ice really draws the eye to the wonder of natural forms. It literally and figuratively magnifies whatever it encases — here, the remains of a wild asparagus plant.
Goldenrod comes in a variety of forms, depending on the species, but all of them are beautiful.
Death never looked so fetching. As with those witch hazel flowers in the woods, ordinary goldenrod seedheads seem as timeless as insects fossilized in amber.
But most glorious of all are the leaves of grass. Broomsedge, a native late-season grass closely related to little bluestem, is already handsome stuff without the effects of sunlit ice.
And the brome is always at its best in winter, when snow sets off the cursive brush-strokes of its leaves. The sun is so bright, I can barely see what I’m photographing and shoot almost at random, then do virtually no post-processing, but still the image turns out — as if, once captured by ice, it doesn’t really need to be recaptured, just transferred to a new lightbox.