There is always color to be found on the greyest of days,
food for thought when your mind feels so hungry.

Seeds cling to these branches because that is life, regenerating.

Cold winds blow and we scurry inside, hibernating, resting,
staying still, so that later we can race spring’s first breeze.

These cycles of life hold the promise of tomorrow.

The shortest day of winter is behind us, already.

The longest day has begun inching its way towards us,
slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The trees feel it first, but trees are so good
at keeping secrets.

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