圈圈之地

"White Eyes" by Mary Oliver must be one of the most beautiful and interesting poems I've ever read. In her poem, winter is bought by a mysterious bird with its silent affection and beauty.

I always had a hard time thinking winter as something that is beautiful and warm in its own way. Winter was always cold, erratic and relentless.

It's only when I step back and watch snow covered landscapes glittering in the distance, I get a sense of eternal beauty, a picture perfectly frozen in time until spring eventually melts it away. As if winter was never here to begin with.

For something so fragile, I do see the beauty in it. I might even miss it someday.