John's car is on the temporarily disabled list; a rock or piece of coal made mincemeat of the driver's side of the windshield. So I volunteered to drive him to Whitesburg so that he could run in comfort on the track instead of having to slog through the mud running around the neighborhood. Gave me an excuse to go on a quest for sycamores to photograph.
The rest of the year, the sycamore is a nondescript tree, but in winter it becomes the light of the forest. Found mostly on the edges of the woods near streams and rivers, one sees thousands of sycamores as one drives around eastern Kentucky. Unfortunately today's quest was interrupted by rain, so didn't get all the shots I wanted, but here are a few.