I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show. ~Andrew Wyeth
My idea of winter sports has always been a good game of chess in front of a warm fireplace. Yet there is no denying that the longer I garden, the more I appreciate the garden in winter. As the plants turn a crisp gold and then a rough brown, the eye focuses on the paths, the arbors, the bare trees and shrubs -“the bone structure of the landscape.”
The details of plants become fascinating in a new way. The rose hips ripen and soften as the weather changes
while the cone in coneflower suddenly makes its presence known.
Milkweed pods open and release their seeds, carried by gossamer wings.
An early morning stroll through the garden is dramatic in the winter sunrise.
And when snow arrives, those bones suddenly don a frosty gown that transforms everything.
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it. ~John Burroughs
We had an especially pretty snowfall last week that I was able to capture on video – enjoy the winter wonderland.
“Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.”
~ Mary Oliver
Each morning this week began with a walk through an ever-changing garden. Spring is building up to an astonishing crescendo of color and texture and growth, all laid against a ground of fresh green. The early dawn chorus of birdsong masks the ordinary noises of the world – robins, bluejays, cardinals, and red-tailed hawks zoom through the woods as they raise new families, argue over territory, and search for food. As I wander through the garden every day, the same song comes to mind. “Morning has broken like the first morning; blackbird has spoken like the first word.” Yes, each morning this week feels like the first morning, fresh, new, full of life.
composerinthegarden 