Another blemishless sky this morning, except for a thin belt of something akin to steam, I guess.
But the story of the hour, out here in Siouxland, is snow, lots of it. Although we've not had a shut-me-up-tight blizzard this long winter, we've had more snow than we've had in years. It covers the fields, which is rare in a place so frequently raided by winds.
What the snow means to this Saturday morning amateur is far less variety. So I look at grasses along the roads and the lines that a morning sun cuts against the brilliant white backdrop.
Take this cornfield, for example--the brilliant sun reflected off the snow and over these lifeless stalks can yet cast a spell.
Maybe the real joy of photography is the gift of having to look for beauty in just about everything--even some lifeless northwest Iowa cornfield (this one is actually in South Dakota--that belt of timber in the first pic is the Big Sioux River, just west of Hawarden.)
But shooting pictures is a lot like fishing. Even though I'm no pro at that either, I'm sure that the best of the anglers are never quite satisfied unless they hook the lunker. No lunkers this morning, but that doesn't mean there still isn't some joy all around. Just got to keep lookin'.
Maybe next week.