The color drained from the world;
the shallow breaths of death moved
across brown grass till nothing was left—
except hope.
And nobody could see it—
except the birds, who carry it,
beak-full by beak-full, all over the grey,
the last ones who remember—
nothing is really changed;
life has only stepped away
for a moment.
melenoria 
I have been impressed lately by how pretty and quiet it is during winter. A whole different nature experience. So glad we have it.
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It’s true. I’m really glad to live somewhere where there’s 4 seasons and it’s not just warm all the time.
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