Bitter ice and whirling like dry leaves blown across crusted snow, air smelling like a Northern winter that burns cold, winds that whip like angry angels, green warmth and comfort is a memory only.
See September 21, 2008 for the genesis of my “today is . . . ” postings.
See September 21, 2008 for the genesis of my “today is . . . ” postings.
1 comment:
The atmosphere you have narrated implies that the 'comfort' shall be a memory, rather a remote memory.
Yes, we remember the happy things, forgetting all that have pained us. Perhaps that is the real strength of the humans.
Naval Langa
http://humorhumour.blogspot.com/
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