For about a week, this square inch of Siouxland where we live has seemed a fairyland. We pride ourselves in having really good ground out here, the best in the state. Our work ethic plays second fiddle to no one, and we're close enough to the Plains to land some of the most beautiful skies on the continent. But for plain old raw beauty, you look elsewhere, right?
Not so.
The place has been almost heavenly for most of the week--seriously. Deep morning fog envelopes everything in ermine, cottony fluff, so much so that there's nothing left unredeemed. And it stays. It's very fragile, but it's just as beautiful the end of the day as it is in the morning.
Sunlight has been rare, but lack of color lends its own fairy-like mystery to things.
Meanwhile, everything is bearded. Wherever you look, there's Santa Claus. .
It's a fairy-land, all right. Just a touch of sun or wind and the whole fantasy is felled.
That kind of deep frost has kept us in its favors for almost a week, enough so that a man or woman can almost forget what's real--the world all around, a wonderland of alabaster.
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