There is nothing abloom to share from this hillside garden. Days grow and fade into night and back again with various shades of gray and white.
Sunrise paints a different sky with textures of clouds passing by.
The day goes by . . . by and by . . . then another one blooms just south of this room . . . as a sliver of moon hangs high.
Each blossoming dawn paints the sky with it's own eye . . . a bit of gold here . . . a bit more there . . . with washes of rose everywhere.
Snow makes white light and generous coats wherever it floats.