Autumn’s colored splendor fades away.
It’s coming; I hear the north wind’s song.
Bare branches stand against a canvas gray.
Days shorten; nights become too long.
Cool, crisp, sharp, raw, blue.
Varied harshness marks its passing here.
Weak ones sometimes do not make it through.
At times, it also brings the strongest fear.
Blinding brightness – Snow is on the ground.
Icy crystals bend the straining bough.
Silence broken by its tinkling sound.
Surreal, it manifests its beauty now.