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I drove out the the Confluence Point State Park this afternoon.

On my way I passed the frozen Mississippi. There were many eagles on the ice, and a good number of people parked by the riverside looking out them.

Today, however, I was not interested in the birds or the river.

What attracted my eye was the bleak open landscape.

Half covered with snow, the frozen ground showed no hint of green whatsoever. Just blacks, browns and whites.

A pale sun shone through a veil of cloud. Against that sky, the trees and power line pylons stood out crisp and stark.

Bones of the winter. The pylons, of course, never assume a green mantle and remain skeletal all year. Against a verdant backdrop, their alien nature comes to the fore, but here they seem to be embraced by the dormant land. Blending in with a curious beauty and carrying the promise of warmth in the thousands of volts of potential held in the filigree threads that weave them together.
I never made it to the Confluence Point. All I needed was contained in what I saw today.

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