Cold Season

Window curtains in my room sway with the silent winds; The cold smog crawls on the frozen garden covered with the mists. I see everything slowly fades but the splendor around never chagrins. Would it be romantic to stare at the fog in the middle of a secret tryst? A cup of coffee would be a perfect match to savor this picturesque scene. So I could finally wear my old-borrowed jacket; I wish this would persist. The hazy trees in front of my cottage house seem to look like a Halloween. But this soul contrarily feels different looking at this painted-gray minute. It is frigidly aglow and mesmerizing where the murk meets the serene. My pale nails and skin are freezing but not my riveted spirit; I am awestruck with the cold season’s mystic beauty. I wish I could lend my eyes to my sister so that she could see it.