Choosing to see differently again

Eyes adjusting
to winter’s harvest
of seedheads in
chill wind and ice-blue skies.

What does this time
require of me, and
what peculiar gifts
does it bear?

Will I stand
with open hands,
or shield my gaze
for another day?

~ I’ve been drawn to these bulrushes on successive days. Each time I encounter them differently, sometimes with extraordinary contrasts.