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Held up by snow, freezing rain. Spent two hours the next morning freeing the car from an inch of ice. At a Nebraska rest area, I marvelled at a flock of Canada Geese that landed barefoot in this half-frozen pond. Dinosaurs still rule the earth.
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Solitary tree, reflection. A frozen pond at sunset shows a diffused copy of a tree with evening prairie colors.
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Solitary tree, sans plumage. As 2020 comes to an end, it occurs to me I’m way behind on my usual quota of solitary tree photos.
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Cattails in winter. Frozen pond in the backgroud, light from a winter sunset. Urbana, Illinois.
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Barbara in her Christmas best, trying on her new bracelet.
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Lynn and Caroline. Cracking jokes instead of posing. Varmints.
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My brother, Sam. Looking much more refined than usual.
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I was teasing my step-mother, a very organized woman of German origin, that she had fallen from grace. Her tupperware drawer had lids and containers, but few matched up.
She defended herself with, “I’m working very hard not to be a perfectionist.”
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Family. Christmas dinner.
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The family elder, 92, keeping warm on Christmas Eve with a blanket and cup of tea.
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Light snow on a cold Christmas eve. A pale, cloudy moon and a naked tree lit by a spherical street lamp.
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Unplanned stop in Hannibal, Missouri. I missed getting over the tracks by about ten seconds. But I got a photo, got to see some tagged cars. The train came to a stop with two cars left blocking that road, so I turned around and went around on some country lanes.
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Panhandle sunset. The colors are different here. And the cloud patterns. Oddly, they remind me of Jupiter’s central band.
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A phalanx of wind turbines in the Texas panhandle. The turbines are quite prolific there and keep you company as you drive across. At night they morph from impossibly tall white creatures to ranks of blinking red lights, warding off aircraft.
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The remnants of several weather patterns combined for a striking sunset.
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Trailing edge of the snow storm. For a while everything was grey, but the storm was moving quickly enough east that I realized the sunset would come through. From this spot I could see all kinds of weather spread out over a 30 mile radius.
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Past the mist, into the snow, I found a small burn area at the crest of the hills. All the compositions seemed clumsy. The landscape deserved more, but I needed to move on.
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Edge of the snowstorm in the high desert. I kept expecting something to appear out of the mist. Horses, soldiers, maybe a whole short story.
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Leaving Las Vegas. Well, leaving Nevada, via the Virgin River canyon at sunset.
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Approaching Las Vegas. The Nevada landscape really comes to life on partially cloudy days.
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Golden morning light on Wheeler Crest. When a storm hangs low on the crest, you can sometimes see blue light leaking through from clear skies above.
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Fifteen miles down the road, yesterday’s warning sign begins to make sense.
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This road looks like fun. They left off, ”Snow storm on the horizon.” Please and thank you.
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Grapevine in winter, outside the back door of my airbnb.
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A fluffy layer passed by, but did not stay for sunset.
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