Perhaps it’s because the color has fallen from the trees. Frosts come in waves now and extinguish the grass. Flowers are a memory. Foliage camouflages ugly things. Ruts in the earth, erosion, ancient dumps of rusted cans – most of them man-made. Winter undresses the gridded monotony of suburbia and the sagging charms of dying rural yards cluttered with the refuse of what was supposed to make life better. Perhaps the need to hang Christmas lights in the trees addresses the dea