"under the trees in Autumn"

I walked out of the house into this weird estrangement of weather...  as though into someones's pointlessly strange story...

I love the hopeful green against the snow. It reminds me of disagreeing with Wallace Stevens' in "The Motive for Metaphor"

You like it under the trees in Autumn,
because everything is half dead.

Try it the opposite way, I want to tell Stevens...

we're all still so alive...