Beneath a sky of dove-gray clouds, the forest lay hushed under deep snow. My boots crunched softly, the only sound in the vast, white silence. Then, near the base of an ancient oak, a flash of crimson caught my eye—impossibly bright against the monochrome world. Kneeling, I brushed away powder to reveal a cluster of wintergreen berries, their waxy skins gleaming like tiny jewels. Nearby, delicate tracks, perhaps a fox’s, stitched a path through the drifts. In that frozen stillness, life persisted, vibrant and secret. The cold air bit my cheeks, but wonder warmed me: even in deepest winter, the forest holds hidden gifts for those who wander slowly and look closely.
