In the wee hours of the morning, I ruffle folders and sheaves of captured images like cards and come upon this - a gathering of snow-clad tree people looking across the highlands as the sun slides below rolling piney hills in the distance. Old friends, the fragrant spruces cluster on their chosen slope and lean toward one another, rustling their draperies and conversing softly about the deep blue shadows and buttery light.
It's an "aha" moment, an awakening, a particle of truth, perhaps even a fragmentary enlightenment of sorts. Winter has its own fabulous colors and shapes, and there is no light anywhere like this perfect sundown light.
I am going to miss this long white season when it departs. No matter how cold and snowy it becomes or how my elderly bones protest, here beats a winter heart.