A touch of ice on the branches.
A peaceful meander through snow-covered trees though the path is still clear.
A touch of colour still present in the new bareness of the trees.
And a few berries still on the bushes.
“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
― Lewis Carroll