Dead and alive.

First snow has fallen and the world seems dead under its soft white pall. Each twig is freaked with it and each branch heavy with a defining stark line. And yet on close inspection not only are the leaf buds for the spring already formed and waiting, but hazel catkins were ready on the twigs before the autumn leaves had even fallen. There is no dead time, the cycle never stops: only the speed changes.




4 thoughts on “Dead and alive.

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