It was a frigid, New England evening, in the dead of winter. The sun was setting. I was down by the reservoir, looking for something to capture that was reminiscent of the day when I saw it. The pink sunset, casting its shadow on the ice-covered weeds against the bluish cast of the darkening snow. It was perfect.
It was a frigid, New England evening, in the dead of winter. The sun was setting. I was down by the reservoir, looking for something to capture that was reminiscent of the day when I saw it. The pink sunset, casting its shadow on the ice-covered weeds against the bluish cast of the darkening snow. It was perfect.