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winter on the farm where I grew up. UPDATE: these trees were damaged in a storm the summer after I took this photo and are no longer there. I gave this photo to my brother and his wife (who currently owns the farm) this Christmas. good memories.
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Doug Floyd said…
Beautiful picture. Makes me think of a Bobbi Jones poem that he wrote while in Canada:

The Laurentian Wood (in mid winter)
The only colour left, because there are so many hands,
Is the brown of negroes swaying in white sorrow.
Having lost their gloves in the storm, they stretch rhythmic
Fingers to catch the air's joy, through their slavery.
The throb, throb, throb of their song covers the summits.
Where abundance was, branches, sparsely nourished, hollow fleshed,
Wig-wag spirituals of Brother Jesus.
Though they cannot stir their feet, the move their hands.
These years are harsh; and without the clothing of love
Which of us is able to ling to join in the verses?
Whose breath is not frozen?Our windpipes are icicles.
All through the earth there are icy gaps between man and man.
We could be so brown again if we'd only reach out hands.
12:07 PM
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