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Winter is beautiful from a distance or when still in photographs, but burns your face and freezes your hands as you bike against its winds. Spring is beautiful up close or when dynamic in reality, but makes you sneeze and question your age as you see life renew all around you.
The beauty of that period between winter and spring when Mother Nature stops her strip dancing is perhaps more praised than autumn leaves. We'd rather see objects breathe with life than see life in its last moments - the same reason we like to hang around pediatric hospitals rather than hospices.
Nevertheless, whether spring or winter, be it leaves or snowflakes, we praise the immortal, that which never stays the same but always exists, the omnipresent.
Either everything I am writing is making sense, or I'm reading way too much classical Chinese. Damn those daydreaming philosophers - if only I had bottles of liquor and pavilions like those bearded dreamers millennia ago.
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