As I walked out onto the Campbell Creek trail, from the entrance near our house, there was a twittering cacophony of birds. The snow crunched beneath my feet, but the sound was no longer audible. I pointed my camera at the chokecherry bush, holding my breath for steadiness and to prevent moisture from my breath condensing on the now cold glass – the temperature was hovering somewhere just above zero degrees Fahrenheit.
I took a growing number of photos. And the birds would scatter at every movement. But once I remained still for a bit, a brave one would return and slowly attract the others, and they would continue feeding on the gradually fermenting berries.
I walked down to see ice crystals near the edge of the frozen creek. Ice thickness is unpredictable on rivers, but I felt somewhat comfortable as cold as it was. Near the edge, ice flowers bloomed on a sheet of translucent blue ice.
A little further upstream in another spot of open water, I spotted my dancing friend, the American Dipper, bobbing up and down between underwater dives for small fish and insect larvae. The ice-cold water forms beads, rolling off his downy feathers as his performance continues.
Further down the creek, I stopped to look at the sun and possibly generate a few micrograms of vitamin D that is in short supply during the dark winter months. The light glittered on the hoarfrost covered branches and on the soft white pillows of freshly fallen snow.
The quiet, peaceful stillness of freshly fallen snow, insulating from city noise and birdcalls in trees overhead bring a sense of calm that’s rare in a busy life. Carrying a camera every day brings a lot of opportunity to capture images that inspire drawings. And in the evening before bed, I can quietly focus, practicing drawing from the photos I’ve taken myself. And I really like that.
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