The winter months hold a different kind of beauty. It is shy and subtle. Intricate forms appear quietly, once hidden by thick cloaks of foliage. Their stark bony ribs stick out against the white snow. They beckon me to cross the field, to take a closer look. I’m unprepared – wearing clogs – but I venture out anyways and gather a pancake of snow beneath each heel. I hadn’t expected to see them, I never do…it is just the right time of day and the sun is hitting them just so, accentuating the complicated twists and turns of their seed pods and thorny stalks. I like these dead plants. I like witnessing their still graceful bodies, stubborn and delicate in the face of our relentless winter storms. They are changed, for sure, from their loud summer selves, but in no way diminished, and just as beautiful as they have ever been.
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