Naked Trees.

 The leaves are fallen from the trees, leaving them stark against the sky.  Although I mourn the passing of Autumn's rich beauty, these silhouettes catch and hold my eye repeatedly.  It is here, in the death of colour and life, that the bones of the tree and indeed the forest are revealed.  The slender trunks, lofty often symmetrical branches speak of elegance and form.  The art of a naked tree astounds me.

 In spring, summer and fall, I pay more attention to the leaves or the shade, then I do the tree.  But now, having all else stripped away, I admire these steadfast trees.  The lack of leaves does not concern them, they do not scramble to hide their nakedness.  Rather, they stand as boldly as before with peace, assurance and confidence.

 Would that I could do the same, stand firm in the midst of being stripped.  My comforts are gone, have been disappearing like autumn leaves for quite some time.  I see hope, but her coming is a far off.  May I like the trees I so admire find grace, strength, peace, assurance and most of all trust in this inner winter.

 I join with Emily and the rest today,