Wind and Snow
The wind woke me. It roared in from the west, carrying single-digit temperatures and an arctic bite.
This is cold that takes your breath away, that is no longer bracing but something to brace yourself for.
The bamboo hangs its head, weighted with the white stuff. Maybe the winds will blow it clean.
This is cold that takes your breath away, that is no longer bracing but something to brace yourself for.
The bamboo hangs its head, weighted with the white stuff. Maybe the winds will blow it clean.
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