Without leaves on the trees, this huge wasps' nest was revealed. It's high up in this tree, but is probably eighteen-inches from top to bottom. Growing up, my aunt Hoohoo had a paper wasp nest like this and used it as a decoration in one of her guest rooms. I have no idea how she retrieved it originally, and made sure it was empty, but it was a fascinating conversation piece.
Without leaves, the Winterberry's namesakes are revealed.
Without leaves on the bushes above, this vintage galvanized pail is revealed in the woods. I don't know why someone would leave a bucket behind, or why it would stay here for decades. But I left it where I photographed it.
Without leaves, well most of 'em, the twisted trunks of age-old vines are revealed. Pink Gardens' woods are full of these living twists and turns. Literally.
Without leaves, these trees are cleanly reflected symmetrically in the swamp waters below.
B T W :
Longtime, loyal reader, Artichoke Annie, wrote the following poem for this post. She added it to the comments section, but I think it's a great addition to the post itself. Thank you, Annie!
Without Leaves …
… without leaves I'm able to move about freely,
… I miss however the rustling sound usually made when i'm on the go
… I once scurried about in front of your lens unseen
… but now my nakedness is in full view and I must find some small space
… just a small space to provide a cover until Spring
… away from the eyes of those special ones that see us when we are without leaves
—Artichoke Annie, December 4. 2011