Because January, if you don’t count white and gray, is the Monochrome Month, any hint of color can be almost painful by its contrast.
A few deep pink coralberries cling to wizened sprigs along the creek. Smooth stones under the ripples of Goose or Nameless Creek draw far more attention today for their amber and ruby and gold–a feature that, on a summer day awash with color, would draw no particular admiration. Beyond that–and an occasional painfully-blue sky–January’s pallette has little to offer the eye.
So Â looking down to find this ice-blue fragment at the edge of the creek was to be startled by mere color. The question for you is: what is it?
I brought it back to the house and photographed it resting on one of Ann’s locust-root gargoyles that adorn the landscaping out back. Largest dimension is maybe an inch and three quarters.
I think I might know its source. But I thought if others might reach the same conclusion. So take a guess. Or tell us for sure.
SUGGESTED COMPANION TOPIC: Winter Walk–a retold prose poem that speaks of the monochrome of winter, and suggests that, since smells also disappear from the winter landscape, there should be a word like monochrome for the winter aromasphere.