Loveliness of winter

I walk through snowy fields, listening to the whisper of snow falling in old hedge rows, hearing the ripple of a little stream flowing dark over sodden leaves, through snowy banks that reach to the water's edge. Everything is hushed except a cawing crow, lost and flying blind through the swirling snow.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...