It's winter, but it doesn't look like it. This photo is a memory from a previous year, from a day of fairy-tale-like snow forests:
But at least a touch of winter is there, in the air, and on the windowsill. this is from solstice:
Sitting there, I remembered the collective winter poem from Leafpress:
Lines Drawn from Greening Winds
..This time of memory, of sketching a rough plan for the new year,
Of stepping out with you into the (s)now
What if there were only words to give at this dark time
what if we only craved light.
In early morning dreams I cleared mind and heart of old resentments
woke to Winter Solstice shortest day most magical night
Looking back, the path twists and slopes beyond a conclusive view
and trees quarrelling with wind cannot predict the turning ahead.
Lines drawn from greening winds fall on the silent page,
assert themselves, flirt, delight to surrender another construct...
...and the greening winds... they are here right now: