Crimson muse

I walked the pond and remembered that Joanna had discovered a patch of Cranberry there last autumn. Although it is forage for many others, there were berries enough for sauce to accompany our meal at Thanksgiving. I could see a number of crimson leaves poking above the accumulated snow. How pretty they were, nestled in a shallow pocket and surrounded by uncomfortable looking crystals.

If asked to compare the colors of winter to those of other seasons, I believe that most of us would be quick to discount them as drab, monochromatic. I disagree. Having said that, I hasten to observe that although there is an abundance of color in the winter landscape, it is shy and does not shout its whereabouts. Because winter color presents on a somewhat different scale, one must be especially observant.

Lovely leaves. The blush of color provides a vibrant reminder that life abounds. Even in the cold of winter. It reminds me how tenacious life is. The distilled interaction of genome and the environment ensures the efficiency of the species. Each is well prepared, not tenuous. For, if it were not so, surely some other form would have taken its place.


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