When the days are getting longer, it is well to remember that the imprint of the season is still strong, still present in so many ways. These accumulations of wind and cold have an effect on living things.
We can see it in the shrubs - their limp branches, holding dried leaves and only a few, evoke this time of transition. Death has taken the green growing things and rebirth is not yet here. It's cold.
So is it the persistance that attracts us? Maybe. Whatever it is, we notice that it is quiet and not self-conscious. It speaks of living this part of a life for which there is no alternative. Perhaps it is patience, or a form of heroism, or simply what it means to be a plant, this act of being in a place and experiencing that which is there.
And what is this to me? I don't know. But I'm grateful for the effort I must expend to examine this and the blessing of seeing and feeling and imagining the drama and dance that these living beings have brought forth.