Winter has a way of seeming to oversimplify things. Summer’s confusion of greens and roofs and earths is reduced to a few obvious ciphers – white and blue crisply dividing on sunny days, melting together into gray when the light retreats, leaving black trees to point their stark, accusing fingers heaven ward, waiting for an answer that will surely come. But things are not so simple, and not merely because there is life under the surface, burgeoning even as it seems to sleep. Undisguised by the distractions of leaves or the humming heat, sunlight makes the library’s awning glow like heaven, transmutes the red barked shrubs in the median into a ruby tangle which begs you to get out of the car and reach forward towards its center.  You know there is nothing here to be grasped or even remembered, yet something, something is revealing itself in the eloquence of light which pours out both cold and warm.