Yes, the physical beauty of the world is more subtle in winter, and serenity is the reward for those who take the time to find the green within the grays and browns. Those searching for beauty now must adopt a slower pace, wait a little longer to see what comes to the surface, try a different angle so as to let the lens of frigid air bring the world more in focus.
Without the cicada drone or the blackbirds fussing over something, I can actually hear the rustling of the river against the bank, the slapping of the water over the sandbars. Even the geese have ceased their constant complaining, all I hear are the soft whistles of their wings as they pass overhead.
The humans are being quiet as well, mostly just by not being here. But, once the seasons begin to shift I won’t have this place to myself anymore. Of course, I love the whole of summer, the people and the dogs, the kids on bikes and the babies in strollers, the skateboarders and the disc golfers, the magic green robes of this world bearing birds and flowers of every color.
But I’ll miss the serenity. I’ll miss the crystal air and the smell of river mud unblemished by sumac and honeylocust. I’ll miss being enveloped in wool and heavy cotton, and the feeling that no matter what the world threw at me, I could protect myself against it.