I looked out at our two beautiful trees, an apple, and white birch, and I wondered if I could take a photo that might capture how cold it was, how the wind blew all the snow into shiny ice, how the March sun stood out alone in the sky, how the shadows of the trees reached out as if to grip the frozen land.

When I look at the picture, I see and feel the cold, it has a kind of unique and barren beauty. One of the last gasps of the winter pasture. But not the last. March is never to be trusted.