Like most people with a camera I took my share of White Christmas photos and splashed them up on Facebook. For a long time this weekend it was simply enough to sit and watch in wonder at the beauty and rarity of the occasion. It has been a long, long, long, long, long time since we have had a White Christmas in Alabama. My childhood memories contain many snowy winter times. We built snowmen, went sledding on the sloped road up the hill, made snow cream and dried our wet gloves on the warm air vents. Once, snow was measured in feet and our little dog would have to tunnel through to do her business. Over time snow became rare and our winters became more temperate.
But I digress. Yesterday the sun came out and the winds began kicking the fluffy snow about. I'd not yet got out the macro to see what it looks like. Last year we had a light snow at the lake, and through the macro I discovered the snow to be shards like crystals. Not "flakes," as we see on Christmas cards. This year, this snow, I found actual flakes. Hurrying was essential for the sun was beginning to melt the snow into icy, frosty bundles.
Once a real snowflake was spotted it became a mission to find more. Along the way there was lots of beauty to record. Bronze leaves with sugar on top.
Another snowflake about to become part of the icy frost coating a boxwood leaf.
The trees held special treasures nestled among the lichens and tendrils.
This snowflake glinted in the sun, grabbing my attention and delight.
Little pockets of snow were tucked into deep crevasses of a maple tree's bark.
Then, I found ice coating the roses.
Ice coating the azalea. If you enlarge the photo you can see the imprint of snowflakes.
I enjoy very much grand, sweeping landscape photographs of snowy fields, mountains with snow-topped trees, streams with snowy banks, old mills and lighthouses decked with snow and all those similarly stunning images that beg to front a Christmas card. However, there's something about getting in close, seeing snow up close and personal, that makes me smile. Happy Holidays, ya'll, from the frozen South.