I used to find the bare trees of winter (and the beginning of spring) so visually bland. Perhaps that was a side effect of growing up in New England, where we often find ourselves begging mother nature to hurry us through the cold months and kindly bring us back to warm weather and green grass. But now as an adult, and after returning to the east coast from a 4 year stint in California, I am delighted by the constantly changing beauty of nature. I no longer attach feelings of gloom or feel a void when surrounded by barren trees. Instead, I see an intricate dance of branches twisting and turning against the sky. There is something so symbolic about the skeleton of these arboreous creatures, and I have been hypnotized by them all winter long.