The view from my window is a dull gray. Two trees glow a bright orange, but only them. The rest have let their leaves fall to the ground. Crunching under foot steps. Many complain of the lack of beauty of bare trees. I find them beautiful. The twists and turns of the branches the etching of the bark. When the snow drifts down to greet them, it lands perfectly on their branches. Melting, freezing, then melting again. The winter sun glistens in the day, as the moon shimmers at night. Stars wink here and there, looking down from the heavens. A Christmas spirit is in the air, joyfulness pulling me in. But I have much to wait for, for the time has not come for the carols to sing and the bells to ring. The snow is not brought, the air not chilled. But, the trees, oh the trees. Some of them barren, some of them leaved. When that last leaf falls, as it falls to the ground, my heart will fly up in joy. For the barren trees bring joy to me, as the snow falls to great them.