The moon looks over the white scene, its light reflecting off the soft snow. The grassy hill glows gently, each leaf and twig blanketed in frost. No wind, not even a whisper. The world is silent, muffled by the powdered cover, stilled by the cold.
A lone hare huddles by a bush, ever observant. Its nose twitches, and it shifts forward, stretching out long hind legs. It rises and hops away. The towering spruces are regal in their platinum crowns and shawls of silver. Their stature alone is impressive. They are the monarchs of the forest, quietly reminding of their rule through this display of grandeur.
The sky, deepest of indigos, is an infinite canvas for the gleaming stars. Distant, oh so distant they are. On route for millions of years, their light still travels through space to reach the earth, where it falls faintly through tired eyes and makes an impression on wandering minds. The constellations tell stories, but there is so much more to be said. The tales fill holes in the unknown, but the mysteries are abundant. The more time spent looking up, the more stars are revealed as they shyly make themselves seen from out of the dark curtain. Some things are only noticed when time is spent searching.
Image source: 1
