Not that there isn't beauty in empty, gnarled branches reaching skyward. Even without spring we're never left orphans.
Reality is interesting in its feast and famine aspects. Seasons aren't distributed in micro-balance, with a layer of winter, spring, summer, and fall for each day. Nope. We receive a time for this, a time for that. Now is the time when green begins to stir.
In other areas, those amid the world of humanity, now is a time in our land for posturing and speeches. We don't receive, politically-speaking, a daily balance of governance and changes in such. We get seasons. Some of us (probably most of us at different times) feel orphaned and almost never see beauty in these.
I can only imagine the courage needed to put oneself out there and run for office, seeking to serve our country's people. As with many other types of career, this one demands (so people say) a voice that is confident, fearless, proud. Let us have no peeking through the brambles in order to clarify.
I'm just not so sure being proud is the best way to serve the people.
Almost home the other day, I walked into a blustery moment. The wind grasped dead leaves that had clung all winter to trees along River Road, tossing them past my blowing hair and into swirls above. The rustle, the swish, the decaying leaf-scent, each of these spoke beauty. Even though they lacked a flash of color -- even while only the temperature hinted spring.