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What I like best this time of year is the warmth of the sun on my back on a clear and breezy winter day. It's cold out, but I'm not. Spring's far away, but not so far (This idea took me here.). In each small thing is a universe--in the moss and vines clinging to the remains of a white birch, in the small tracks looping around the freeze-dried brush, in the water that runs and freezes with the rise and fall of the day. It's all good.