Frosted Glory - East Missoula, Montana

"…the really precious things are thought and sight, not pace. It does … a man, if he be truly a man, no harm to go slow; for his glory is not at all in going, but in being." -John Ruskin (1819–1900), in Modern Painters, Vol. III   1856

Frost and Red Rose Hips - Missoula, Montana

Contrasts draw us in, as with red rose hips amidst  slender frost-outlined branches in the lingering evening light.

Red Berries, Missoula, Montana

 “...the winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows...” ― John Geddes, "A Familiar Rain"

Hipster Scene, Alberton, Montana

Rose hips - not just a pretty berry, but chock full of Vitamin C for the taking - unless they're growing in along a public roadway, and then you prob'ly don't want to eat them because of pesticide and weed-kill overspray. But other than that, I've heard they make a delicious tea and are really good for you.

Red Winter Berries, Missoula, Montana

Simple river scene, peaceful thoughts.

Christmas Decor, Missoula, Montana

My 5:00 drive home in the dark is cheered by an increasing array of Christmas lights. Interestingly, my bah-humbug toward early Christmas music does not apply to the visuals of the season. Bring on the garland, the lights, the shining stars! One roadside business lit their frontage trees with a moving cascade of lights that are dangerously mesmerizing; I have to pay extra attention to my driving in that block.
Attachment to Chrismas decor harks back to when I was small and would scootch behind our luscious fake Christmas tree into a me-sized corner formed by the wall and the large wooden stereo turntable cabinet.  I'd hunker in there for what seemed like hours, happily listening to the weekend sounds of my family bustling about the house. It's amazing what you learn when no one knows you're listening. Eventually, of course, someone would realize I wasn't dusting, and I'd hear the first strains of, "Where's Cinderelly?". That was my cue to carefully ease unobserved back into the room, preserving my hidey place for future reconnaissance, and commence dusting as if I'd never stopped.  But, after a few false starts, my prince did eventually come and sweep me away to a life of love and happily twittering songbirds.