Frost
The frost gathered at the window melts in the morning sun. Winter quietly withdraws, and the first breath of spring has formed on the glass.
The frost gathered at the window melts in the morning sun. Winter quietly withdraws, and the first breath of spring has formed on the glass.
To say the first breath of spring comes in low is a hard thing. On my way home today, small drops stood on the tips of the ginkgo branches at the end of the alley. In the still-low temperature, they looked as if holding their breath.