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At play in winter's garden...

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.


To see all the photographs click the arrow on each image


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