I've just gotten back from North Carolina, where I got lost and found myself exactly where I was supposed to be--on rural route #43, where the ice-covered white oaks took my breath away. The entire countryside was gorgeous, but especially the oaks. The weather had been so variable, some were encased in ice, others had snow dusting their branches and gathered in their crotches. Many pines with little tufts of snow caught in their needles. The brightest thing in the landscape was the broomsedge, which glowed like fire.
Believe it or not, I had gathered some broomsedge from my own fields before leaving for NC. Tonight, I dropped it into this mug. I wanted to move it to a different windowsill where the mullions wouldn't be so distracting, but only in this window did the color of the broomsedge look remotely as fiery as it did outdoors.
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