I sat upon a hill today and listened to the gentle whisper of the chilled wind through my hair. A few snowflakes fell and tickled my nose. It was enchanted, in a sad and lonesome sort of way. Winter heaves a heavy cloud over my prospects. The dreams of summer seem so far away when the leaves have all fallen from the willow tree and the birds glide softly overhead... away. It is a shame to see the ponds deevoid of geese... very quiet, even.
It is bitterly cold. My breath creates iced clouds in the air. Again, beautiful is a sorrowful way. I will not deny that winter is stunning in its own sort of way, but I long for the warm embraces of summer to sweep me off my feet again.
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Just A Painter Passing Through
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