The idea was to wake up early and go chase the dawn somewhere east on Saturday morning, somewhere close to the rolling hills above the Little Sioux; but the fog was so thick outside my windows that I could barely see. So I left the camera in the bag, stayed in sweats, sat here behind the computer, and simply determined that there'd be no opportunities in the gray sea poop outside the window.
But by sun up, the curtain looked like it could rise or fall with a little solar nudging. By then it was already kind of late, relatively speaking--maybe 8:00. Shapes were beginning to emerge eerily from the ooze. The sun was doing its heat thing.
What all that fog would leave behind, I knew, was the kind of frosting winter blesses us with occasionally, a fragile coating of grace over just about everything. We'd had a bit of snow on Friday night, so all the old dirty stuff was, well, whiter than snow. It would be the an act of apostacy to stay inside.
It's February now, and the groundhog, people say, saw not his shadow. That's great news. New snow, even a blessed fringing hoarfrost isn't new at all in February. In another month, I won't point a camera at what's out there no matter how heavenly. In two months, we'll all be cursing our fat if--no, when--we get more.
But 'twas a sweet February Saturday and not to be missed.
I never got more than two miles from home and came home blessed. That being said, nothing that comes off that memory card is as perfectly gorgeous, as shiny bright, as what was out there. Trust me.