Standing rooted through the muted winter, the trees, ranked like stoic sentinels, wait quietly with determined expectation of spring. For now, their patient shades of grey and taupe and charcoal are hung only with leftover faded orange flags. The game is in recess for the season. A single holly shares the soft snow cover in quiet camaraderie, not boasting its hold on color, but offering a reminder.
How Cloth Informs me
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