Snow drifts onto the frozen river, as petals would onto a cracked and broken mirror. The water ripples beneath the ice, beneath the soft grey sky, illuminated by muted sunlight. Shafts of light kiss the frosted earth, warming flowers in their sleep. If flowers could smile, they would do so now, bathed in the glow of winter, lost in the bliss of cool, fragrant dreams. If the melody of the wind could be more than just a whisper, it would caress the straw-like grasses in a loving serenade, and return the forgotten color of winter to the dormant land. But the land is silent, and the wind can do little more than hush its weightless whispers to let its lover sleep. The songbirds too are soundless, drifting in the wind on their weary wings, as they watch the snowflakes fall.


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