Heart Exposed

It stands, grey, bare, stark against the cold grey sky. Cracks in the bark streak across its trunk. Its spindly sticks reach into the empty air. It twists and turns in a mangled mess, this is not a tree, it is a dead pile of sticks.

It is stripped of what we think makes a tree look beautiful, stripped of bright color, rustling leaves, stripped of its soft gentleness. It stands there, the heart of the tree exposed to critical eyes. Then, a gentle snow slips through the sky, and silently collects on the tree. The branches,what one would  once call generically ugly, now hold a gentle beauty. The snow creates a soft blanket over the wood, collecting deeper layers closer to its heart.

The mangled pile of sticks become a beacon of beauty.