Beauty, as they say, is in the eyes of the beholder. (Who DID say that?)
From where I sit at my computer on the second floor of my farm house, I see tracks in the fresh powder. Critters were out and about overnight. Rabbits (they don't hibernate), squirrels, even a stray cat, were prowling the neighborhood. Sometimes I see deer tracks. Yesterday a red-tailed hawk swooped in and landed in my walnut tree. He's looking for those pesky piney squirrels. I need an owl for the rabbits. Cardinals, blue jays, and juncos flit around the yard looking regal, but they don't catch mice.

Back to my opening sentence. I'm trying to decide whether I'm gazing at a stark winter's scenery with eyes of wonder and realism, or with eyes of forlornment and no color.

What I'm trying to say is this. I live on the flat prairie of north central Indiana. Except for river valleys and a few leftover hills of glacial debris, my country is monotonously flat. If you buy a bicycle, even a 3-speed is too much. Want to get in shape to go mountain climbing? You won't do it here. It's just downright boring, landscape wise.
Everything, this time of year, is black and white. Even the evergreen trees look black. That cardinal stands out like a sore thumb. Yet, even in its bleakness, the view is spectacular. One can see forever. The earth seems to stand still. It's so quiet and peaceful. No motorcycles, no cicadas, nothing but silence. I only wish it wasn't so cold to go outside and enjoy the solitude of nature.

Two long months from now, the grass will awake from dormancy. My garden, now buried in snow, will be calling me to start messin' around in it. Colors will emerge. In the meantime, I'll just have to accept and appreciate what is the reality of winter in Indiana. I don't have to like it , however!