Everywhere, there is life.
Birds are still flying, wildlife still feeding, people still buzzing around.
But to me, it is all different somehow.
I am wonderstruck.
Snow does not gracefully descend,
But blows around me like wisps of nothing.
The Wind, in her mighty glory,
Blows the snow in the peaks of the high mountains
And appear as white flags flapping in the sky, as in surrender.
It excites me.
How foreign it feels, anticipating a storm not involving hurricanes.
Life is surreal
Birds are still flying, wildlife still feeding, people still buzzing around.
But to me, it is all different somehow.
I am wonderstruck.
Snow does not gracefully descend,
But blows around me like wisps of nothing.
The Wind, in her mighty glory,
Blows the snow in the peaks of the high mountains
And appear as white flags flapping in the sky, as in surrender.
It excites me.
How foreign it feels, anticipating a storm not involving hurricanes.
Life is surreal
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