First Frost (With Leaf)
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It’s been weeks since Chicago’s first frost, and it’s something that didn’t stay around for very long. It had other things to do: other places to go. Given the current state of the Midwestern USA, I don’t blame it. On the night before this photo was taken, it was warm. It was wet. A cold front moved in, during the night’s darkest hours; by daybreak, the night’s wetness (and a single, fallen leaf) were frozen where they landed. They were held in place by a thin and fragile membrane of ice. As the day warmed, slightly, water beneath its crystalline skin of ice began to flow into different patterns. In a way, perhaps, Winter was attempting to write its name in the ice. Though winter is a universal concept, it stands to reason that individual winters differ from each other. It is—in that way of thinking—necessary for each winter to write its name, to declare itself, to differentiate itself from winters past and winters future. At least that’s how I see it, when I enter into a somewhat mytho-poetic mindstate. I was in such a mindstate when I took this photograph. I found this image the week before pecking random letters on my laptop keyboard and settling on “GWOT” for truly random reasons. As you can now see a few posts earlier in my gallery, “Gwot” has taken on its own meaning, and perhaps in a way, Gwot may be the name of this year’s winter as well….
As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.
- December 16, 2012
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