Twinkle. Nature twinkles all the time. The water, rushing pell-mell over rocks, sparkles in the sun; the leaves dripping with frost gleem outrageously as my breath freezes in the early morning and the grass wet with dew glistens to greet me on warmer days. But I love this line from Mae West, and we have snow on the high ground aplenty, and its nearly Christmas, and I’m dreaming. So here is my picture of snow drifting, twinkling down to the Lac de la Cregut in December.
