The sunlight did not so much illuminate the garden this weekend as settle over it like a bank of silvery fog.
The light ended up being ideal for taking shots of one of our oldest and prettiest dwarf conifers. I would tell you what it is, except I don’t know; like many novices, we weren’t so fastidious about keeping records when we aquired it, over ten years ago. (I’m not saying I’m much more than a novice now, but I’m less of a novice than I used to be, if that makes any sense.)
It suffered a bit from the ice last winter, but I repotted it this year and it seems to be doing well.
For a few minutes the sun passed between the apartment buildings behind us and we were all stunned by the explosion of light.
As the light once again faded, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of our little evergreen.
I wanted this sliver of hazy light to last forever; the sun, however, had other plans.
With a final, trembling sigh, it lit up the trees for a few seconds and then it was gone.
