Winter, I love.
The white snow, the bare-branched trees, the simple palette. The quietness, the bookishness, the curl-up comfort-ness. But you already know about all that.
I do have to say, though, that when I walk across the wooden footbridge in February, stopping for a moment to look over the edge and there see open mirrors of water in thin-crust ice, and then looking deeper I see... green? I shy-smile, blink twice, and look again.
Yes. Clear as plain is plain, there's green, waving at me from below the face of pond-y ice water.
And at that very pinpoint in time, something begins to awaken inside; outside. Like a slow rolling-over with a deep, skittering sigh, I see the ever-so-slightly fluttering eyelids of winter.
It's almost time to wake up.
