Decem-bare

We're still waiting for snow here. We've had a few dustings, and one overnight snowfall a month ago that brought out the snowplow for a single pass (it went by in one direction while the leaf-pickup truck traveled along the opposite way, in a perfect example of two seasons colliding). But mostly it's still bare out there. Novem-bare. It's nice, in a stark November sort of way. But this is December, and I'm ready for splendor.

Last week marked three years in my house, a short enough span of time to recall that each of those previous Decembers we've had plenty of snow by now. Here's the proof, from last year and the year before and the year before that.

Meanwhile, I'm spotting the same scenes as in previous late-fall, early-winter stretches, just without the sparkle I've come to expect. On our morning walking loop, the beavers have been busy again.

The milkweed pods are exploding with their fluffy white seed-parachutes.

The Queen Anne's Lace has curled into its nest-like winter shape.

These orange-red berries are stunning against the bare branches and a (rare) blue sky.

Today, as rain pours down, the backyard cedars are glittering with water drops.

I suppose the lesson is that there's splendor in every season. If this is more subtle than the beauty of a fresh snowfall, then it makes me look harder and deeper. But the temperature's dropping and there's snow in the forecast. Those raindrops should be turning to feathery flakes any moment now. And I must admit, that makes me happy!