Renewal.

I’ve always loved the dead of winter — 
The bare vulnerability
Of a tree’s branches
Nakedly swaying.
Their gnarled, blistering arms
Embracing the sky.
The dull, tarnished grass
Bearing the brunt of a gray world
Without sun.
Nature shows us Her dark parts,
Stripped of artificiality.
If She can be vulnerable in a time
Of renewal,
Then we can, too.