For many this is the most joyful time of the year. Much of the world glistens (and, yes, even blinks) in reds, greens, silvers and golds. “All is bright” — indeed.

But, not to throw a scrooge into things, this is also the darkest time (with daylight down to a scroungy nine and a half hours). And that’s presuming we can see daylight instead of the now more familiar gloomy gray.

I’ve commented before that, in spite of this, my album has more photographs taken in this season than any other. I’d mused once that perhaps that was true because I spent more time indoors looking out but have decided that the reason may well be winter weather offers more variety.

Spring — the yellow greens of new leaves, flowers in a wide variety, baby animals, etc.

Summer — blue skies, blue waters, the many shades of green and definitely more flowers.

Autumn — of course those deliriously eye-popping shades of red, gold and orange.

Winter has none of this color to offer naturally. But the sun (and it does shine) glistens from the water, the frozen ground and the icy branches, creating new visions of magic again and again.

It may not rate as my favorite time (I do not like being cold) but I’d be a fool to ignore the wonders that appear daily beyond my windows. Only complaint is that so much of it is black and white. Birds, too.

And therein lies the problem. My problem.

I love to photograph birds — particularly those around the feeders — in all seasons. They don’t change — not much — but something within has me convinced the next shot will be my very best yet. So I continue to shoot away.

And therein, to quote the master, lies the rub.

Nuthatches and chickadees are plentiful year round. They like my offerings of birdseed, come easily (and often) to the feeders and, best of all, are content to sit still “posing” while they munch. By now of course the winter’s herald, the junco, has also returned and joined his gray and white buddies.

I shoot freely.

Then, if I haven’t already remembered, I do as soon as I check the results: I have a black and white bird on a black branch covered in white snow. Where does one leave off and the other begin?

The chickadee’s black head and bib stand out strikingly but the white breast tends to disappear into the snow and the dark head blends too easily with its surroundings. Must I settle for just that part of the bird?

The nuthatch is hardly better though its shape and climbing tendencies cause it to stand out on its own. While only the male has a black head, both sexes share the black collar. But again, dark back and white breast.

The junco of course fits right in with its “impossible” cousins — dark back and white chest, just more solidly hued than the others.

I think naturally of camouflage. All these birds should be well-protected during these cold months. Only, I must ask, where is the advantage to the chickadee and nuthatch when the trees again leaf green?

And, more to the point, what do I with camera still in hand do for these months? That isn’t so hard to answer for I keep clicking away, hoping the next picture will be the best. And, just when I think I’ve seen enough gray and white for one day, I look up into the green pine where  a pair of cardinals sit preening.

It remains a world of reds and greens and silvers and golds. Just the way I like it!

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. “Her Reason for Being” was published in 2008 with “Love in Three Acts” following in 2014. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.