Shooting pictures out here on the edge of the Plains isn't all that easy--either that, I'm too old to learn. This morning the sun came up behind a band of clouds that turned the eastern sky into a campfire--small but spectucular. I didn't get it, sadly enough, and in just a few moments the fire was gone. I tried.
Once the sun cleared that low-slung battleship of cloudiness, it rose robustly. There isn't much color, mid-winter, so basically, on a landscape as broad and open as ours, the only materials convenient are tree limbs--dark and scraggly lines against the nothingness.
They do catch at least something of the cold.
Sometimes sheer texture can be interesting.
And I ran across this old corn crib/barn or whatever, three doors within ten feet of each other. Three brothers once lived there. People said they had a heckuva time getting along (I made that up). Maybe it once was the county jail. Who knows?
Only bunnies call it home today.
I stayed out a long time but didn't come back with much. It was almost ten degrees--felt balmy. Just a little Saturday morning therapy on the Northern Plains.