Winter Bides Her Time
the blue-gray moon, cracked into pieces by the stark silhouette of a dying oak...tiny icicles stretching toward the ground, pointing their accusatory fingers...
mantle of snow glittering on the forest floor, effectively muting the quietest of sounds...
moonbeams betray the site of the lake, frozen over and cloudy, intriguing and deceptively inviting...
fresh cold wind biting, gnashing its teeth bitterly, ravenous and invigorated...
yet the moonlight still dances lightly over the pristine snow, exploring, caressing, twinkling...
all the while knowing this moment will not last, and will never be repeated...
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