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 limbs of wild blackberries reaching out to snag the passerby and soft moss carpeting the rocks.
A chill breeze blows away cobwebs of anxious thoughts 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.
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