When I see a tree covered in snow, the way the base of this one is, to me it looks as though the tree is wearing clothes. The rounded branches of the tree trunk mysteriously growing into and flowing underground reminds me of the folds of the tutus often worn in Swan Lake. The pure white of the snow enhances that impression. If snow (or those swan tutus) were green, I likely wouldn’t imagne a connection.
On a snowy afternoon, my front forest looks like a stage full of tall ballerinas, albeit a static view of them. Trees are graceful, too, but they don’t move nearly as much as ballerinas. The wind is their music and they will dance in any breeze, often in every bit as perfect a unison as those swan ballerinas do.
The tree tutus don’t last very long, though. The snow fluffs off and disappears soon enough. They last for a few hours, perhaps a day and then disappear until the next snow when the dance begins again.