I can't see winter as beautiful

Within the winter months, the sky turns gray without any remorse. Almost as if it were being overtaken by an outside source of power.
The once beautiful blue sky is no more. The sun, that usually stays consistent, is almost unwilling to peek through the damped gray curtain.

Like it doesn't want to witness what is happening to the beautiful world it's created.

The strongest trees grow bare. Their outstretched limbs snapping and breaking trying to exist. Instead of holding their budding beautiful leaves, they must withstand the heaviness of winter.
A glaze of frost and ice cover them, and they are no longer flourishing. They're forced into a kind of remission, waiting for the beauty to return.

The ground is frozen. With every step hard and dense, with an echoing crunching sound. Animals no longer scurry about, or sing in the trees. Leaving a loud stillness engulfing the once lively land.

Snow will fall and soon cover what is left. Covering our eyes to what has happened. The plants are dying, and our beauty is dwindling. Forced to retreat into our fortresses and force the feeling of discomfort when we go outside. A feeling that otherwise is a feeling of excitement.

I can't see winter a beautiful.