Early in November, when a few leaves still cling to color, if you are lucky, crystalline hoarfrost glitters the land. Its improbable spikes are fragile; the sun is its mortal enemy.
By mid-month, after the clock changes, the days blench short and dark. The tamaracks dull from gold to rust; the hills take a bruised purple cast. This moment—after the leaves and before the snow—is stick season, when the bones of the earth and the skeletons of the trees populate the land.
November's end brings a stately reign of black and white.
Love it!!
These are exquisite, Terry. Thank you!