The light improves with each day, and lasts a bit longer. Loving the light and knowing it will get even better is what gets me through early winter. The bare twigs are fascinating, too, if a bit ominous, scoring the sky like impossibly complex glyphs on blue parchment. I still haven't figured out what they mean. They wait for green leaves to scribe a different message. That one I understand. It means everything continues. On the way to spring there might be pauses, but those cryptic glyphs will eventually be concealed. Then I'll miss them and I won't. The light will remain, flashing green everywhere. Green is the color that forgets all about grey.