Winter Finally

This sky looks cold, steal and grey. There is no break or variation. It is flat, bare void of anything warm. Silhouette are the limbs of naked ash trees as they stand unmoving and unafraid of the chilling reality of the weather that surrounds them. The hills are a soft frozen yellow sea of grass that has long been asleep, it's warm colors hidden deep in the ground, awaiting some future resurrection.

The birds continue bold and with out feeling occasionally greeting a limb for a view of anything that might become breakfast on the frosty carpet below.

Breath can be seen, the warmth of life and blood is visualized in the vapor puffing from the mouths of those walking by. Two of them stand outside, mouths smoking as they speak and laugh. They are bundled in padded fat jackets, hats that reach down over their ears and dark gloves that cause their hands to appear more like paws than the warm agile hands of humans. Why are they outside? Perhaps it is to feel the bite of the air. Maybe for no other reason than to test the ability of the winter fashions that so stylishly pad their stay puff frames. Maybe because they simply want to live the winter while it lasts.

There is no color, only shades of color. Grey is mixed with everything. Even the yellow of the hibernating grass is a grey-yellow. The trees are a grey-brown and the street is a grey-grey.

Winter Finally.