In the winter dawn, pink blooms powder-soft over pastel hills. Pink prickles: warm fingers against cold cheeks.
Blue breathes, deep and lustrous overhead: a glimmering dark that slowly turns light. Below, blue smiles from shadows amongst the white.
And white? White whispers, floats, clumps, traces its wet finger on branches and stumps. White dazzles day and turns night inside out. A wrestle, a romp, a feast: Mmmmmm…winter tastes white.
Against white, black seems blacker. Black tree bones in a pearled sky.
In the winter woods, gray and brown hold hands. Their brilliant sisters- red, orange, and yello- have all gone home. Gray and brown sway shyly, the only beauties left.
Where is green in winter? Green darkens, shrinks, stiffens into needles. Green waits un the hearts of trees, feeling the earth turn.
And red? Red beats inside me: thump, thump, thump. Red glows in the strengthening sun. Red hops to treetops, fluffs its feathers against the cold.
Cheer-cheer-cheer, it begins to sing: and each note drops like a cherry into my ear.
Red Sings from Treetops: a year in colors By Joyce Sidman
winter drinks
winter celebrations (the Trautman's 40th!)
winter times with friends gathered round
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