One leaf left on a branch and no unhappiness. One leaf left all by itself in the air and it does not speak of loneliness or death. One leaf and it spends itself in swaying mildly in the breeze. No winter in thy year. I believe that the beloved St. Nicholas, old St. Nick - Santa Claus, was the first saint recognized for the true miracles of generosity and compassion, rather than for martyrdom.
Green thoughts emerge from some deep source of stillness which the very fact of winter has released.
I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech-tree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines. Many of the Documents Include Recommended Readings and Internet Links. We go, in winter's biting wind, On many a short-lived winter day, With aching back but willing mind To dig and double dig the clay. Some lives, like evening primroses, blossom most beautifully in the evening of life. Memory is the power to gather roses in winter.