Midday flurries had come to nothing. Lamplight glowed peach, illuminating tangled and bare tree limbs. Many of the twig-like branches had been long dead, the work of Ash Borers; the remaining had entered their winter rest. A web of coloured lights twinkled beyond wavering boughs.
Having successfully evaded the noise of evening news, she was grateful for quiet, for these brief interludes of austere beauty that somehow embodied peace.