WINTER'S CRAYON BOX...

The color of springtime is in the flowers, the color of winter is in the imagination.  

-Terri Guillemets-

 We spent a glorious weekend at the farm. 

The weather was unseasonably warm with brilliant clear blue skies...

As soon as we were settled in I did what I always do, headed outside for a look around.  Not the kind of look around to see if things are as they should be but the kind of looking around that quenches the thirst of the eye from a sight not seen in far too many sun settings and moon risings.  A tour of the farm yard is always first.  A sweet companion perched in the peach tree pointing out the fine workmanship of he and his fellow feathered friends...

A brilliantly built nest in the top of the apple tree...

A woven wonder nestled in the center of the lilac bush...

And a sweet swirl of grasses gathered under the rose bush...

He pointed out pine cones...

Fuzzy soft weeds gone to seed...

And perfect places to perch...

All  manner of things of interest to him.  As I lifted the latch on the old garden gate he gave a quick chirp while spreading his wings and lifting himself high up into the sky.  His sudden departure startled my little sidekick, Sophie, causing her to ruffled her fur...

I sat obscured in the golden hay field silently observing the world around me...

 

 Sophie snuffling around beside me...

I noticed  how winter's crayon box had tipped itself over spilling out a limited palette of sky blue, buttery goldenrod, timberwolf grey, and bittersweet rust brilliantly coloring the landscape before me...
 
Both pond and sky had received firm pressure when filled in to achieve that deep rich vibrancy of blue...

The goldenrod was stroked on with a wispy light hand fanning and feathering the waving windswept grasses...

The rusty bittersweet was sketched in as rusted roof tin and strings of barbed wire on aged cedar fence posts...

And used in the detail designs of rusty nails...

Time worn latches, hinges, and bent wiggly wire...

 
Timberwolf grey was liberally used to texture the trunks of the Silver Leaf Maples...  
 
To swirl in the rings of the old hand hewn log barn...
 
And to give depth and character to bent old barn wood...
 

 I lingered looking long looks at winter's amazing color palette...

Quietly sitting in awe of the hand that wrought it all, bird, nest, pine cone, and tree... a sea of golden hay, an azure sky, the weathered grey of wood, and speckle spotted rust.  I took in the intricate detail of the hand of the ultimate artist and sighed a deep sigh of gratitude and appreciation.
 The shadows began to grow long...
 
And while my little sidekick Sophie and I had enjoyed our time in the sun...

It was time to point ourselves toward the farmhouse...
 
We strolled side by side while casting last admiring glances at winter's crayon box.

What colors in winter's crayon box are shading your world?