The Romance of Winter.

The afternoon may be so clear that you dare not make a sound, lest it fall in pieces. And on such a day I have seen the sky shatter like a broken goblet, and dissolve into iridescent tipsy fragments - ice crystals, falling across the face ot the sun. [from Richard E. Byrd, Alone]

There was an arctic tone to the air and sky this morning. A truly splendid sun dog display, the finest I have ever seen, made me regret my lack of photographic equipment and photographic expertise. Below, the form of a small rock garden had effected, with the wind, the formation of a long graceful saharan dune of snow, while white alluvial terraces spread out from the other side of the yard. Miniature, transitory models for a geology class. (Ignore the half-buried Weber cooker and rusting charcoal-chimney plopped in the middle of the patio.)

Fortunately for comfort, the best available view of parhelia and garden was inside, through the windows in my upstairs office at home. (It was -4F outside at the time. Gratitude to Fleck is due, as he did all the driveway and sidewalk shoveling this morning.)

Now if only we got aurorae at this latitude.

Posted by Moira Breen at January 27, 2004 07:56 AM