While I sleep the frost moves in and settles over the tablelands. Under the cover of darkness it comes to rest on the tinder dry paddocks and rusted wire fences.
When day breaks, what was once a portrait of golden brown and green is now shrouded in white. Thick and heavy, I can barely make out the trees that stood there on sunset. It is still and quiet.
The frost and the fog, like a bridal gown placed carefully over the land by old weathered hands. And a bygone lace veil hanging as a stage curtain that halts me from seeing what lies beyond.
A spider’s web is frozen on the fence line. A thread from the gown caught and tangled. Forgotten.
I like this frost. The way it crackles under foot with every step. Everything frozen in time. The fog that fills the empty space.
Until the sun comes and it trickles away. The fog lifts and the show begins. I see what lies beyond. Till sunset brings the frost again.
Hand lettering and photo by Natasha Carty at The Curly Collective