Print #33: Ice Sugar Winter Painting

It is early winter morning and the frost has worked its magic through the night. Covered with ice sugar, the delicate patterns streaming down this piece of wood represent the artistry of winter, a master painter.

Fine Art Print - 9 x 6",", $40

Fine Art Print - 8 x 12", $80

Inspirational Poems

Frost on the ground
By Tony Fiona

Frost on the ground
lays glistening
a blanket of
fallen stars
from above.

Frost on the ground

Fog waxes and wanes
like a tired old mind
near clear
then blank
clear again

Frost on the ground

Ghostly shadows chase
the moon
silhouettes soft and full
tracing outlines
true love

Frost on the ground

Stealing away
these moments of
time, touch, smell
sound sight
stolen moments

Frost on the ground.

Stealing away all of
my mind

Frost on the ground.

Winter-Time
Robert Louis Stevenson. 1850–1894

LATE lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

Winter Nights
Thomas Campion. 1567–1619

NOW winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys,
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.

Up in the Winter Morning Early
Song by Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Cold blows the wind from east to west,
The drift is driving fairly;
loud and shill’s I hear the blast—
I’m sure it’s winter fairly.

Chorus.—Up in the morning’s no for me,
Up in the morning early;
When a’ the hills are covered with snow,
I’m sure it’s winter fairly.

The birds sit chattering in the thorn,
A’ day they fare but sparely;
And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn—
I’m sure it’s winter fairly.
Up in the mornings, &c.