Frost. Plus Mist. Frist...
Well, heck, if Shakespeare could invent magnificent words for our language, why can't we?
These were taken at the end of October. As the morning mist rose, it revealed the trees all gilded with silver frost.
Most of the trees have leaves down now. The occasional one was still hanging on, like the golden poplar on the far shore.
Grandsitting 2.2 Monday.
10 hours ago