"What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness." - John Steinbeck
I won't lie. I love the cold. Fall is my favorite season — with its bonfires, trees bathed in warm yellows and orange, the brightest showing off in their crimson hues. The clothing of tartan and warm cabled sweaters, boots, and preppy loafers.
But winter, outside of the Christmas and New Year seasons, often is overlooked for its stark, breathless beauty.
Instead of dark, bare branches and monotone gray, I see the first signs of spring, with the loftiest tree branches catching the hazy light with their new light green buds. Nearby mountains enveloped in fog and mist. The crunch of early morning ice-coated grass underfoot. The waning light at day's end…and smell of fireplaces warming the inhabitants snuggled into their cozy bungalows.
I think about animals huddled together in their burrows and nests, some hibernating against the bitter cold and biting wind.
Beautiful. Stunning in its stillness. Its bleakness and sharp attempt to bring a chill to once-lush fields are beautiful.
I love winter, a season that makes the new life of spring and heat of summer all the sweeter.
