The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever the cold road has taken them. How ceremonious snow is, with what quiet severity it turns even death to a formal arrangement. Alone at my window, I listen to the wind, to the small leaves clicking in their coffins of ice.
Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2018 8:45 AM | Viewed: 5565 times
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