Bitter cold has come to these Plains
with temperatures hovering near
zero degrees over the last week.
This blast of Winter has left my
surrounding landscape, frozen in
a most graceful state of repose.
It's as if a moment has been
captured, with bits of flora and
foliage perfectly preserved in
their last struggles, still clinging
to branch and vine, fervently trying
to bring forth one more bloom, or
another burst of color.
And in this perfect peace, the rose
bush, just outside my front door,
also holds lingering reminders of
the Summer season long past.
Filled with tiny buds along side
I snapped a few photos of various
rose clusters, none of which are
really worthy to be shown. However,
these images did inspired a painted
remembrance of such Midwinter's day.
"The mellow year is hasting to it's close;
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the Morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs, a pale mourner for the Summer's past."