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Winters Cold

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Snow falls silently. Each flake a feather of pristine white fast-merging in flurries blanketing steep banks of hardy heather smothering its scent and bushes buries. Skin of unpicked pears turn hard as leather. See, an insomniac squirrel scurries away home to avoid frost-bitten paws one last gathered acorn gripped in its jaws A full moon hangs in an ebony sky Far below snow turns to sparkling ice. Foxes stay in their dens and no owls fly. Nothing is threatened in this paradise even an old starving stag will not die - unless shot by hunters who sacrifice beautiful creatures – just names in their game - for the thrill of the kill or doubtful fame The rising sun bathes crystal spikes that thaw in tears descending to each tip and drip obeying the process of Nature’s law or carve sculptures of such skilled craftsmanship that Michelangelo would stare in awe. Tiring, day yields to winter’s icy grip and once again as darkness cloaks the land deep winter cold regains the upper hand.

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Disha Munot

Date: 3/23/2021 7:09:00 AM

Deep water regains the upper land... Love that!

Regina Mcintosh

Date: 3/23/2021 7:07:00 AM

Brilliant and beautiful! I love this!!! God bless you with many more. Love, Gina