There’s something about a deep snowfall that makes me want to look deeper and think deep, poetic thoughts. So, here is a poem for you to enjoy with a sketch of my snow covered tree:
Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves,
O flakes of snow,
For which, through naked trees, the winds
Or are ye angels, bearing home
The host unseen
Of truant spirits, to be clad
Again in green?
~John B. Tabb, “Phantoms”
And, if you missed this on social media, I did this after watching Mary Shelley. A lovely scene of her writing in her journal:
Saturday morning, right across the street, they were trimming the tree with a bucket lift. They could drive this small equipment across the yard without damage to the grass, and easily access the branches needed. Really neat! And easy to draw, as I could sit on my front porch with my coffee! Note: the yard is sloped, so the bucket thing-y is not on top of the truck, as it seems.