[ transplog ]

Up is down and down is up: Sabine Street Bridge mirrors the waters of Buffalo Bayou in Houston. (Preset: hallowed black)

The temperature lingered just above freezing on the day after Christmas. And so the precipitation was a drizzle: icy cold but still liquid.

As it fell, the bright drifts of snow were first compacted and then dulled. And it erased the white-limned lines of winter branches, leaving them slick and clean—but not bearing the warm hues of spring growth.

A single droplet tipped many a branch and leaf. Each droplet reflected as silver in the wan afternoon light: move closer and you find a fun-house portrait, a dull white winter world in the reflection.

Droplets of rain reflect the skeletal lines of trees in winter.

The alarm clock trills for attention; the boundary of frigid air above the comforter becomes all too apparent. Such are the mild cruelties of a winter morn.

Fortunately, the view out the window absorbs my attention: nature produces her own kind of stained glass window. The wan sun of winter tips above the horizon into a sky of low-hanging clouds. And the sparse lines of leafless branches form a kind of mosaic from the muted blues and oranges.

Stained glass at sunrise I [7667]

Stained glass at sunrise III [7664]

#7667 12 ways [7667]

This year's annual cookie production occurred on time, likely thanks to a series of small miracles: all colored sugars in stock, dough mixed early, chilly temps for baking, etc.. (Read about the fashionably late arrival of 2008's batch here.)

Witness the transformation from shapely cookies into holiday fashion plates:
The serrated sweep of Christmas trees prior to greening.

Sugar cookies before they're decked out in holiday colors.

The modern snow-woman wears pink if she wants.

Snowmen show off glints of a sugary wardrobe.