It's 8am, and very quiet. The sun has not yet peeped above the trees and houses.
Underfoot, a soft crunch. I tiptoe, quietly, my breath a halo.
Everything outlined in delicate crystal. A coating of white, yet colours shine through.
Soft and smudged, almost otherworldly. I don't recognise this place without sunlight.
Amongst the frozen wilderness, buds open. Petals unfurl. I am grateful for winter flowers.
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