By Cathy Hird
Standing in a fence row halfway to the forest, in a low lying spot between two ploughed fields, a swamp oak spreads out in all directions. Willows, dogwood and marsh grasses grow beneath it. In summer, the tree is a huge green ball providing shelter for birds and shade for the smaller plants. In winter, the tree's structure can be seen.

The main trunk is not as thick as one might expect given its size--this is a fast growing type of tree. About 4 meters from the ground, branches 30 cm in diameter grow horizontally, each sending smaller ones up and out. Further up the trunk, more branches sprout from the trunk, and the angles of these become more and more vertical higher up the tree. As I stand on my skis looking at it, I can trace the outside circle of small twigs, a circle that will be solid green in summer.

Winter lets us see structure in a way that the green and colour of summer hides. When I staked the lane for the snow-blower, I found empty milkweed pods. The stem of this plant is thick and strong, hollow with a sticky white sap. In winter the stalk has shrunk to a stiff brown stalk, and the open, dry pod is shaped like a small boat. Inside, a silky membrane clings to the centre where the seeds and wispy umbrellas that carried them on the wind once were.

In summer, the colour of the wild flowers grabs our attention. These days, the colour of the dry plants that stand above the blanket of white are similar. The purple, yellow and white have been replaced by a brown-grey. In places that are pasture in summer, a few bright yellow grass fronds reach up through the snow.

It is the shape of the plants that catch the eye. On the wild carrot, the circle of flowerets has pulled together into a cone but each tiny stem is tipped with a tiny spray of lace. Nearby are asters, long stems tipped with the lacy platform that held the petals of the flowers. Nearby, a shorter plant holds up dark, tight cones, a seed pod held safe until spring.

In the swamp, the cattails stand tall and straight, some with the red-brown brush still whole, some beginning to shed the downy white fluff and seeds they hold. Nearby are the bare spikes of dogwood, a brilliant red, the brightest colour of winter.

Towering over the dogwood and cattails are the empty branches of trees. Some of the willow and alder show the yellow tips of young sprouts, a promise of next year's growth. Some of the graceful elms stand firm. On others the bark is pealing, a sign that devastating disease hit. Likewise, on the rounded spread of the butternut trees, the yellow rust of lichen shows which have been weakened by disease just as clearly as the paucity of leaves in summer. The tangle of lilac shows the age and vigour of the shrub. With the maples, birch, and apples, there is strength in the main branches and in the many small twigs which will leaf out next season.

There is green and shelter for squirrel, bird and rabbit in the cedar swamp, the line of pine trees and the cluster of spruce. Even these show a different quality of green, though, one tinged with brown and yellow, the colour of rest.

The air is almost silent as January comes to an end. Without the buzz of insects, the flow of water and the constant rattle of leaves, we can hear the individual calls of the birds who come to visit. The colours are muted with grey, brown and white dominating the land under a grey sky.

Winter does lock us inside when it storms. It makes us slip and slide. But it also helps us to see the shape of the world we live in.
Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister and writer living near Walters Falls.