It's fascinating to experience winter through Bingley's eyes. He sees even the coldest morning as the chance for a new adventure.
I imagine that to him, winter is as much a miracle as spring. After all, he's only been alive for three months. Winter is all he's ever known of life.
If winter was all you had known, imagine how it might look: So full of life and magic and quiet, crystalline secrets waiting to be uncovered and understood.
He relishes the crunch of withered leaves under his paws, the earthy taste of a rotting stick in his mouth. And he's spellbound by the
ever-changing surface of the snow, which sometimes holds his weight, and
For Bingley, even the dullest things that most of us overlook in winter—the dried up, the dormant, and the dead—are mysteries waiting to be devoured.
Preferably whole and with a generous helping of mud because mud makes everything taste better.