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inspired by Monet's The Magpie by Karen Schwartz The oak trees are undressed for winter. With a penchant for standing vigil, their icy stares add little warmth to a barren season that has yet to see good cheer and yet there is promise. The crow perched in solitude reminds us that there is beauty in seclusion, all land's frosty splendor is laid out in jet black and winter white. Footprints mark man's journey. He navigates his way to foreign places; away from the magpie who sits in idle chatter with no audience to tell him his view is wrong. There is little chance of ice melt, the sun's rays aren't strong enough to sear nature's polar blanket, a grassland covering of twigs and sleet that through her peaceful offering celebrates winter's blessed hour.
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