The heart needs just a wee nudge to open itself to the beauty of winter. And, just-like-that, the focus is there:
On that tree branch holding its own bit of snow aloft so proudly and on that small bush whose winsome fronds seem somehow elevated in beauty’s history.
Reality comes, too, when there’s a driveway to shovel. I’ll be doing that now, while it’s still dark and quiet and lovely.