Holly berries linger on forgotten wreaths. Mistletoe has lost its magic. Rest falls upon the garden. Trees have thrown off their leafy burdens and bare branches reach heavenward as if to touch the bellies of the geese winging south. Quietness lives in the winter garden. Leaves, cast aside by the trees, now nestle the ground creatures who call the garden their home. Sunshine warms but only for awhile. Frost blankets the garden. Sleep now, beloved plants, and rest for soon the warm sun will gently stir you from your slumber. Rest now and dream of butterflies and hummingbirds. Shh! The winter garden is asleep.