World of White
Yesterday’s post was epic. Today’s will be photographic.
Sunrise over the east moraine:
Then, for three straight days the moraine, lake, and lower fields were shrouded in constant fog. Not once did the fog burn off. The view from the lake house was nothing but white. It felt like living in a cloud. But one mile down the road, I had a different vantage point and was able to photograph the “ghost breath” (as Craig Lesley calls fog in Winterkill) where it rolled off the mountains and hugged the slopes, then stopped as if the valley was a forbidden line:
The pines and fir trees seemed to glow with the suffocating white, even though no direct sunlight filtered through the clouds overhead. It looked like the forest was breathing color from the inside out. Deep, dark, black-green…and yet, so bright it almost pulsed, each individual needle ensconced in frozen fog that didn’t melt until the weekend: