In the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, weather, capricious, drifts over the peaks. It can be sunny and in the sixties one late autumn day and snowing and in the twenties the next. The light here can be like flames at sunset or gentler and the shadows are long against the hills.
View of Mount Herman, blanketed in the second snow fall of the year. Mist rises off the melting snow like a living creature.
A twisted branch and it's wilder sister shadow.
Limbs of oak wear snow, which creates a new geometry, one that disappears in a few days.
A pinion tree clings to a rock. The shadow of it looks like a skinny, crazy-haired woman, with hands defiantly placed on hips.
An icicle slowly melts, reverting back to its original form.
The cellar door is surrounded by a circular portal of snow as a persistent sun beats against it.
Hardy pink flowers bloom through the second snowfall, showing their yellow fractal centers.
Inside the house, an amaryllis emerges from dormancy. Like much of the area I live in, where cacti can slumber for years, only to surprise the hiker by suddenly erputing into bloom.