It's been snowing here. Grey, heavy laden skies with no sun and yet it is beautiful. The trees have been stripped of their leaves and stand naked, bare limbs painted with hoar frost.
I still struggle with change, believing that it is forever and not just a season. I forget that life is a circle, that patterns repeat. That I have no control. That I need to accept.
I wonder if trees struggle with acceptance. Do they ever wish to pull up their roots? Do they long to be free? Or do they know that where they are is the best place for them?