Wrapped in mercy...cloaked in grace

In winter, the trees beckon to me;
daring me to take a picture of their nakedness.
Their bare branches reaching - stark against blue sky,
or fading sun,
or enveloping fog.

Their trunks - some twisting,
some straight,
some bowing with age. Seeming to bend with the burden of life.

Balanced somewhere between life and death,
Fading and renewal,
beginning and end.

Awaiting the warming of spring
and the bursting of color from their veins.
To dance in the breeze and clap with praise for their Maker.

And then, days grow shorter,
air turns colder,
red and orange and gold begin to fall.

And soon, they will stand again, lifting empty branches to the heavens -
and beckon to me.