I woke up this morning, and a hard frost reminded me that I only have a couple of weeks left in the woods. I'd been meaning to get out on the pond for some "early dawn" photos all summer, but I kept putting it off in favor of a better day, more sleep, and a bunch of other excuses. It's sad how easy it is to put off getting out there and doing something until you're faced with not being able to do it again.
The thermometer said just under 30 degrees, so I bundled up in flannel and polypropylene and a couple of other layers. I wished I'd brought gloves up north with me, but you can't always get what you want. The kayak was white and fuzzy with ice crystals, and the mist was swirling like the proverbial pea soup. It was marvelous.
By the time the sun rose, I couldn't feel my hands, but I was determined to get some decent pictures.
I apologize that you don't get the feel for the mist in these; picture an army of ghosts skirting across the water. (Maybe not quite the caliber of the army of ghosts in the Lord of the Rings movies, but my CGI budget is somewhat smaller than theirs.) Every time the kayak moved a few feet, the world around me changed completely as the mist marched on and the sun rose higher and peeked through different trees.
The leaves are a little lackluster this year. There are a lot of oranges and yellows, but not to many reds. The reds we do have are more of a salmon color; I attribute it to a late frost last spring, all the rain during July, and the warm September.
Jack Frost has always been a good friend of mine; I'm one of the few people I know who wishes winter lasted longer. There's just something humbling and quiet about a world asleep. All thoughts of shoveling snow aside, winter lets you pause, take stock of things, and take a rest yourself. It's cold, calm, and mysterious, and oh, how I miss it when I'm down in Virginia!
Jack, it's good to see you again.