Signs in the Snow

When I fly for business reasons, I always try to get a window seat.  I have always delighted in the view from the airplane window, at all the shifted perspectives one obtains when looking at the world on high.  As long as I still love these sights, I feel, I know that I have not become too jaded, and my sometimes-strained soul has not yet died (I speak in the metaphorical sense, of course). When I fly with family, it's different now: Harriet almost always claims the window, and despite my longing to displace her, I would rather share the joy than steal it.  When I am alone, however, even on my shortest and busiest flights, I will track the sights at least occasionally, and I often shutterbug my way through takeoff and landing, so happy that our minor electronics are once again officially allowed to be active at those time.

One of the things that always fascinates me most is the way the landscape radically transforms with seasons.  Moreover, despite what one might think, I find that it is winter that most brings out the texture of the land.  When snow is on the ground, its topography is highlighted, leaping out in dark lines on every vertical and slope.  With those thoughts in mind, I present to you dear readers, an album of interesting forms I've seen, which I think of by the title "Signs in the Snow":