Owed to the Sun

Even before the sun is visible to us in the house, the upper woods to the north see him . . .

 

I hurry to the front porch to catch him peeking over the ridge and sending long shafts of light into the valley . . .      

Then to the back porch again to see the light spilling down the slopes . . .

And back to the front porch where, at last, the star player makes his entrance . . .

Gilding the edges of all he touches.

Later in the day, I take a little walk. It's two-thirty and soon the sun will have disappeared behind the mountain at our back. But now it's warm in the entry garden and I look for pictures.  There's lemon balm, unfazed by the recent snow... 

 

I trim away the dead stalks of Autumn Joy sedum, but pile them on top of the emerging new buds for protection from cold to come . . .

Like little green roses . . .

The Harry Lauder's Walkingstick (contorted hazelnut) has put out catkins . . .

 
And the sun is accentuating all those lovely curves . . .

Behind the house now, trying to catch the last bits of sunlight -- even an old piece of log grabs at the light -- and my attention . . .

No, this is not a chicken foot -- it's a sprig of yellow dogwood. . .

Some sort of weed (goldenrod?) gone to seed, but making the most of the dying rays . . .

Raspberry leaves -- last year's and this year's . . .

And the last of the sun, making a kalaidoscope within a young pine's branches.