Bog Pond, Savoy.

Jeez, these short days barely give a guy a chance to pull out the box after work!

Still, if one can think of a spot to get to in the next half-hour of light, one might snag a shot which works.

Tonight I scurried up to Bog Pond in Savoy State Forest, where the ice was trying to form:

Not much happening there, except for the slow passage of time.

That one’s courtesy of Elliot, with about three degrees of tilt, and three hand-held filters in the face of a frost-nipping breeze.

I can dig it in retrospect, but at the time my fingers demanded that I cry.

Good thing I’m bigger than my fingers.

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