The garden is painted in frosty wonder; white lace on deep green. Under the frost cloth greens still thrive, now tasting sweeter with the touch of icy air. Rare and unique, precious it seems- the patterns and pictures in the frost on the farm. Dustings of feather light sparkles grace the fences and cover the picnic table like spun sugar. The tractor sits in glistening light beside the greenhouse in the glittery field; patiently waiting for plowing to resume.
The only winter we ever see; a striking sight- here in the deep south. Today we marvel at the lacy artwork drawn by the hand of God in the frost on the homestead.