Winter is not anathema to me. I've no desire to flee the season and head south. I'll grant you that living in the Mid-Atlantic region of the United States our winters are not as severe as more northern climes, but these are the only winters I've ever known. Or care to know.
Maybe being in tune with the land makes the difference. When I go outside, my shoes do not walk on concrete and asphalt. Instead, my steps are made on the earth itself. I see the dull grass and bare trees and know they are merely sleeping, resting in preparation for the magic to happen come spring.
Winter is full of patterns if you know where to look. Yesterday morning, the front porch was covered in a thin layer of frost. It lay in a sparkling design only ice and sun could create.
I stood at the door, coffee cup in hand, and watched as the warming day erased the handiwork of night. Then it occurred to me to take a picture. I'm sorry I couldn't capture the sparkle, though. A few moments later, little cat paws marred the pattern as Loki decided ten minutes was enough time in the great outdoors.
Such a beautiful thing to see, frost sparkling on the porch.
The Lady of Holly Tree Manor