But it’s there.
I have to remind myself sometimes, but when I look for it, I always see it.
In the stark contrast of bare branches silhouetted against the steel grey sky.
In the slow lull of lazy fat snowflakes as they drift to the ground.
In the silence of a snowfall, and in the barely-there crinkling of the flakes as they hit the ground.
In the puffs of breath in the cold air.
In the thick, opaque, moody clouds.
In the clear prism of ice on dark water, and the white frost lacing every window.
Spring offers up her beauty on a silver platter, splashing everything with green. She’s sweet, but there’s no depth to her.
Winter, though, her beauty is less obvious and harder to pin down and far less appreciated. But when you look, and you find it, it’s all that much sweeter.