It was snowing.

Slowly dawn breaks.
I felt it was slightly brighter than usual outside,
Looking out of the window into the garden,
It was a stark white world.

Snow.
It appears to have fallen a little during the night.

In distant cities,
This snow is a big problem.
But here, it's just beautiful.

With that in mind,
Putting wood on the stove.
Pine cones, some of them.

The wood fire that was put in last night,
With only a few still remaining,
Soon after, bobbing pine cones started to burn.
Eventually, with the sound of crackling explosions,
The fire is also transferred to the wood.

Warm air,
Begin to move slowly around the room.

I went out on deck to see what was going on outside.
The sub-zero air is cold against your cheeks today.

If you look, the trees are covered in white ice mist,
The birds are still in a sleepy dream.

Before the sun had yet to rise.
deep indigobeing out of one's depth and out of touchWith a sky of,
White forests are,
In silence,
It was just there.

If the sun eventually shines with warmth,
In exchange for that light,
This view that you are seeing now is
It is lost as if the magic had melted away.

A faint, yet stubborn snow.