The morning sun breaks through faded sky; its brightness outlining the trees that stand, lonely and silent; silent and still…but with hope, pointing heavenward, and whispering in the wind: come, let us adore Him.

The withered leaves that have not fallen still hold on, though life seems gone. They rustle silently in the bitter cold, but do not fall; for they wait, and say: come, let us adore Him.