Winters dance.

A shroud of mystery

hangs floating

on the grey horizon;

the mountains, dark,

slip in and out of focus,

appearing through

the veils of rain,

in sharp relief

to the green in front

of me.

The wind tugs at the trees,

bending them,

foliage flapping, turning,

making different patterns

and colours, while birds

flit by, through the driving rain,

driving in squalls

down the mountains,

we all feel cold,

but good,

as we watch winters dance.


4 thoughts on “Winters dance.

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