Wintertime trees are honest trees, stark and bare, their dark branches rising in graceful shapes. Nothing is hidden, all is in plain sight. There’s something bracing about walking through winter woods with the scent of ice in the air. Limbs of wild blackberries reach out to snag the unwary and moss lays a carpet of green over rough rocks.
Anxious thoughts are blown away with the chill breeze and brittle leaves leave no footprints behind. Summer woods have a lush loveliness, but the starkness of winter woods holds an honest beauty of its own.
I don’t walk through the woods. The closest I come is going to Wisconsin at times where there are lots of trees around!
I grew up where there’re lots of trees. It was kind of hard Not to walk through woods. Winter woods has its own sort of beauty, just as winter trees do.
Beautiful!
Thank you, Kim.