Winter wrote its story on the trees.
It blew in on fat snowflakes and settled with a festive Christmas charm on proud, sturdy branches. It mounded gently over thirsty roots like a fickle promise.
Ice twinkled through white snow, green needles, brown bark. December trees stood tall and strong.
But winter overstayed its welcome.
Sleet struck, salt stained and heavy snow dragged limbs down and held them captive in a firm, dirty grip. Even the stalwart evergreen wore down.
Now, the trees tell the story.
They whisper it through crackling brown branches that shake in the spring wind. They mark it in their epitaphs, on growth rings that will note 2014 by the slimmest margin.
We’ll trim them up, hope for just the right amount of sun and rain and nurse them back to life.
Still, if you want to hear the winter’s tale of 2014, you’ll find it in the trees.