The simple truth is that she is a little weary of deep snow and icy cold, and at times, she is even a little tired of the color blue.
It is at times like these that something small or curved or delicately robed in snow shows up and begs rapt and focused attention, glossy bubbles in the creek, ice crystals frosting the evergreens over her head, the shape of a single perfect beech leaf on the trail at her feet, pine cones casting vivid shadows in pools of early morning sunlight.
Just when she decides that she is thoroughly weary of ice and snow and will not sketch another icicle or take a single photo of such things, another winter tableau presents itself to the eye. Small and perfect, complete within itself, it conveys an elemental peace and balance, lowers the blood pressure and stills the breathing, returns her eyes and focus to simplicity and grace and assent.
There are worlds great and small everywhere, worlds within and worlds without, and every one is a wonder to behold and remember and love with her eyes... Surely, she can do this for a little while longer.