A photography session in the midst of a blizzard and writing verses in front of the fireplace
Winter’s firm grip bends, frozen whispers cling
To stone and twisted branch,
Winter’s breath so still.
Nature sculpts with ice, bending forms to her will,
A stark, white canvas
In which the silent garden sleeps.
In this quiet world, shapes blur where once lines were clear,
Nature’s art unfurls.
Winter’s dance of change.
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