Alone. Silent. Surrounded by quiet snow. Yes, winter contemplates, amid the fiery leaves of old. Catching fire and fading fast, their passions put on hold.
Silence, not a sign of death, your graven blanket swept aside. I ponder, fireside. Pen and paper, dear friends. Word dreams spring, as Spring well likes. Bosom of blossoms, tightly budded, beneath the frost.
Stories continue, visions unfold. Laughter rises with the waves, seabreeze freshly blows. Summer braves the rest!