Photographer finds winter’s beauty is its best defense
I try to keep my voice down when I speak of my love for winter. I’ve learned that almost no one wants to hear it. Yet at Harvard’s Arnold Arboretum, I fall in love with this stark but lovely season once again. It’s November on my first visit — everything is shades of brown and the sky is nearly entirely gray. Standing halfway up Peters Hill, the only sound is a nearby rustling in the bushes, then silence, then cawing overhead, then silence. Suddenly, a hawk flies over me, clutching something. I inch closer to her tree; all thoughts of a hearty breakfast leave me as I see the hawk gnawing and tugging at the guts of her prey. On another visit, the all-brown landscape has been replaced by white blankets of snow. A half-dozen children run through a grove of fir trees. They play outside every day, their teacher tells...