Winter Mists

Winter Mists

Frost’s crystal chimes on grass and twig, glazed Hawthorn berries in icy wreath on gnarled trees, the sun blowing the mists down the fell, winter’s blue the reward beyond.

After days of rain the dreary skies have shed their soaked robes to present their own azure beauty once more, or at least a flash here and there.

Misty Copse

Teasing with glimpses, the soft swathes of mist twirl around the cropses and hills in a game of hide-and-seek

Earth is but a goddess not ready to quite wake from her slumber despite the sun’s kisses, rolling over instead in her gauzy bed.

However short the sun blessed hours, it’s a relief to see their warmth stones and feel it on the skin.