We had a hard frost last night. Everything in the garden is covered in a dry, sparkling layer of white frost. Every leaf detail, every twig is outlined. What's left of the garden is made graphic and particular. The hot red of the barberry's fruit stings against the muted colors of the rest of the garden. Sharp punctuations. A small red berry like this would be barely noticable in the summer, but now it's the only source of bright color, so it grabs my attention. It is utterly beautiful this morning.