Winter Wonderland - a tree in silver

I haven't been that bothered by winter and cold.  I'm lucky.  I have central heating, the forethought to wrap up warm, and flexibility such that I don't have to go out in it all the time.  I don't want snow so desperately that it hurts, but I don't mind if we don't have any this year.  I'm easily pleased it seems.
(small rant - if people want snow that badly, go on holiday to somewhere that can cope with it.  England can't.)

The frost is very pretty though.  My Apple Tree, the fruit of my mental state (it seems) is glittering with white this morning.  The branches seem to be coated with white fluff, and they stand out strong and proud. 

It doesn't look quite as cute as this photo though.  It has been cut back however, and looks a little spikey and bare.  The simplicity of it is pleasing, as I know it will grow back, and it will be better in the long run, but right now it is rather devoid of the fluid gentleness I've come to know and love.  It stands like a stick in the ground in fact. 

I'd rather think of it in the future.  I'd rather believe that it will be true to itself and its history and in a few weeks will be growing anew; soft green buds pushing their way through the pain, and wanting to reach the sunlight's warming rays.  I know that it wants those warming rays now - to be caressed by the open and honest touches that care for it and make it grow. 

A few minutes later and the sun does indeed rise.  It is distant though, and takes its time climbing through the sky.  but the sky is clear and will be blue; no cloud may darken the day's life this day.  Which makes it crisp and clear and - well, truthful.

Since the earliest hours this morning I have seen the frost on the windows of the conservatory.  It looks as though a range of spiders have created webs across the glass (although I have been told it is a result of specks of dirt unseen).  The frost grasps them, and has a party.  Yah-hey! it cries, lets get to work with patterns of filigree silver and floral white.  Fronds of ferns and feathers adorn its work, and I sit and admire as the sun begins to light the beauty, making them shine like patches of glitter on a traditional christmas card. 

I don't believe that mankind can replicate any of the beauty of nature, although we try long and hard.  The Christmas Card for example, tries to paint the same view I am seeing today, but will never truly capture it.

Mankind is, however, able to capture a moment in time - such as a photograph of such beauty, and hold it forever.  Well, possibly not forever (who knows how long a photograph will actually last) but for a very long time in comparison to our short lives.  We can hold a photograph longer than perhaps we can hold a memory.  I have some dear memories, but I fear I will lose them over time.  (that's good - there are some bad ones too, some of them seem to go more quickly, and some don't...)

Wondering about this, perhaps it is the memories that touch your heart that live for longest.  The bad things never reach into that muscular mess of tubes and cavities, pumping your life around your body.  They skirt around the surface, trying to get in, but never quite making it past the gatekeeper - who asks "What right have you to be in here?  Get thee gone".  (He may have appeared in one of Shakespeare's plays I fear...)  But the moments that warm your heart at the time are welcomed in.  Or even afterwards, when you replay them to yourself, and then categorise them as something wonderful.  Heart, Soul, wherever - it's just a blessing that you have somewhere to keep these things.

Your heart needs to store them, and the most important ones will be locked in a vault.  And they are.  Sometimes they seem distant, but they are there, to be accessed like Sherlock wandering through his mind palace.  Go looking for them sometime - wander through the rooms and vaults, and enjoy them once again.  This can help your forget the toughest of sieges on the gate - even for the shortest of times.

My windows, like my mind, hold the beauty today, now; but as I write, I see the frosted windows melt in the rising sun.  The temperature rises and so does the likelihood of the filagree gems disappear.  I cannot hold the beauty in my hand forever.  So I shall have to make the most of it now.  I will stop writing now, and watch the last few minutes of its existence.  Although, having thought this morning through, and written it down, I have stored it too for my future reflection.


Make the most of this transient beauty.  These moments are what we should live for.