The cold weather of the past few days has kept a thin coat of snow here and there in the woods, thin enough to highlight forms rather than obliterate them. On the path, fallen leaves are floating in white, looking like marks of an active brush, reminding me of all-over abstract painting, such as that of Milton Resnick or Mark Tobey.
A more linear pattern is established by the thin fruiting bodies of moss rising above the icy snow.
I become somehow more aware of the pattern of green ferns as I see them partially hidden by white.
Snow has been caught in depressions of bark on a fallen tree, white lines like foam on the sea.
White marks of emphasis are plopped on circular shelves.
A downward sweep of snow is repeating the pattern of green lichen, brushed on the bark.
On a muddy part of the path, ice has formed, delicate as lace, held above the now sunken ground.
A bushy mop of moss seems held in place by a flat cap of snow.
The sparkle of snowy granules repeat the shape and brightness of the tiny spheres of slime mold, each highlighting the other. Snow brings a new way of seeing the world.