The first snow is a delight to an artist. White snow with blue shadows. Streams flowing over green moss-covered rocks. Red and yellow leaves hang here and there adding warmth to the scene. Gold grass stands tall. Color hides here and there, waiting for the artists willing to look.
High above, the breeze hums through grey branches. Below, water tickles the fallen limbs waiting for that trip to the next waiting rock. Sounds of winter lift our spirits and thick wool socks and rubber boots keep the cold from pink toes. Bright red stocking caps pulled down over our ears - an orange vest saying we are not that trophy buck. Finding a place worthy of our efforts is a challenge. Getting to that perfect place, knees buckle asking if this is the perfect spot. Two more steps and the scene is perfect. Unfolding the legs of the French easel and adjusting them to fit the ground beneath the blanket of snow. The little things to paint on the spot never show up in the finished painting, just the beauty of the scene will make it to the canvas.
The paint stiffens and noses begins to run as the painting begins to excite the artist. Brush strokes take on the rhythm of the flowing water, gentle blue shadows rise and fall over the blanket of powder fine snow telling us there are age old granite boulders waiting for a new cover of green moss beneath this virgin white. Spring will bring us back to capture the scene with fresh eyes. Till then, it is that white, clean look that brings us to stand in the cold and fight the stiffening of the paints. With the heater warming my toes, my reward still fastened to the french easel, I sip hot chocolate at home, energizing me for next day's trip.
