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It's tempting, on a cool or cold and cloudy winter's day, just to keep the doors closed and stay inside with a film, or music or a book.

Especially with something of a mist hanging over the ground, painting everything with that ghostly pale gray.

I usually do so. But this January, I have found myself stepping out into the countryside to gaze at the bare bones of the vegetation. As I have often noted over these past few years, I find myself seeing more than I ever did before. Finding pleasure in so many scenes that I might have passed by without a second glance in times past.

I find myself particularly fascinated by bare trees. Living expressions of fractal forms overlaid upon the monochrome background of cloud and mist, each and every one of them is entrancing in an almost spiritually involving way. No, not almost – really spiritual.
Even the man-made skeletons just as this span of the Chain of Rocks Bridge seemingly take on a more meaningful appearance in such surroundings.

I am finding winter more and more delightful as I age.

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