on trying to appreciate winter

I today I realized not everything is brown. if you look not glance the foothills are sage just the kind that’s still being kept a secret II "everything is dead, it’s nothing but a sheet of grey" but that’s not strictly true is it? the scrub brush is whispering about the undertones of moss and their cerulean veins are waiting to be scratched free of its warm, dusty bark III one of the best parts…