Silence. Not a pin drop can be heard. The quietness is so imposing that it woke me up from sleep. Where are the birds, their chirping or the flapping of their wings? Do they know something that I don’t? My intuition tells me that something is happening.
As I raised the wooden roller binds, a strong glare dashed through the window. The garden, aged and haggard by the late autumn rain, has evolved into a Christmas postcard overnight. The ground is transformed into one big snow bed. So soft and so fluffy. The trees are no longer naked trees as their branches are gilded with glittering white glace. Snow fall and loneliness are so alike. Both of them always drop in secretly and unexpectedly. And they will never let you know how long they will stay.
As I raised the wooden roller binds, a strong glare dashed through the window. The garden, aged and haggard by the late autumn rain, has evolved into a Christmas postcard overnight. The ground is transformed into one big snow bed. So soft and so fluffy. The trees are no longer naked trees as their branches are gilded with glittering white glace. Snow fall and loneliness are so alike. Both of them always drop in secretly and unexpectedly. And they will never let you know how long they will stay.
No comments:
Post a Comment