The crunch of snow will never grow old,
Each footprint’s a step of a journey untold.
Trees loom their limbs against blue-gray skies,
As nature releases her quiet sighs.
White powder dusts the trail, leaves, and stone,
While the sun peeks through, shedding a warm glow.
Sparkling crystals dance lightly through the air,
And suddenly, winter seems a little less bare.
Words in the Quiet 
Leave a comment