"Branches were dipped in frosting this morn"

and the sun cast a fairyland spell;

Each fragile twig looked feathered and white
and beckoned a heart to swell.

A winter treasure - a sight to behold -

while silence augmented the scene;

I wanted to walk through an open gate
to find the artist, supreme.

No gate could I see, the artist unseen,

awe captured my soul;

The canvas would change, as nature intended,

but I'd witnessed her morning's goal.

Poem by Joan Adams Burchell

It was 8 degrees while I was out there literally freezing my fingers off to get these shots, but oh so worth it! (The final picture is taken directly into the sun through all the frosty branches and left completely unedited.)