Frost in the morning does something to trees that summer never does: instead of a crown there is a white cloud with no drawing in it, and the sky behind is distinctly blue.
The trees were made wet on wet — the paint spread through damp paper and produced the hoarfrost by itself. It cannot be corrected or repeated; either it comes out first time, or the sheet starts again.
In the foreground I left tufts of dry grass. They are what shows there is still a meadow under the snow, and the blue washes on the white stand in for shadow.
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