As much as I love Spring and all its symbolism of re-birth, new chances and optimism, I dread losing the naked reality of Winter, the "what you see is what it is" simplicity of silhouetted trees against sky or seedless grasses waving in chilled breeze. I'm not quite sure what it is that attracts me to bare--or dead--trees, disheveled crumbling buildings and abandoned rusting machinery. It's long been a private joke in our family: "Tell Mom to get her camera, I found another dead tree." Some of my favorite photos are of the ancient wind-twisted Bristle Cone Pine Forest on the road to Mount Evans near Denver. I don't have a morbid outlook on life or a fixation with death or dying--I just like the juxtapositon of lines, colors and curves presented by trees or buildings left to the vagaries of nature.