Frozen Hermit Creek: Reflections

The following reflective moments were stolen from American Idyll, my brother Tumbleweed's photography blog dedicated to the beauty of the Grand Canyon, and the river. Do not copy, please, or reproduce in any way, his work -- without his permission. Sisters are special; We get away with more than we probably ought. He calls this entry "A Sort Of Wintry Trumpet," published February 12, 2010

To make a perfect winter day like this, you must have a clear, sparkling air, with a sheen from the snow, sufficient cold, little or no wind; and the warmth must come directly from the sun. It must not be a thawing warmth. The tension of nature must not be relaxed. The earth must be resonant if bare, and you hear the lisping tinkle of chickadees from time to time and the unrelenting cold-steel scream of a jay, unmelted, that never flows into a song, a sort of wintry trumpet, screaming cold; hard, tense, frozen music, like the winter sky itself; in the blue livery of winter’s band. It is like a flourish of trumpets to the winter sky. There is no hint of incubation in the jay’s scream. Like the creak of a cart-wheel. There is no cushion for sounds now. They tear our ears.

--Henry David Thoreau (journal entry for February 12, 1854)

photo information:
frozen Hermit Creek (top)
Clear Creek Canyon from South Kaibab Trail (middle)
Isis Temple in mist (below)

From the Cornell Lab of Ornithology:
Mountain Chickadee
Western Scrub-Jay

thank you, tw