Sunday
Beyond her window, the world rests
Stone still
Hushed
As snowflakes tumble
It’s quiet out there
Her eyes look up
For a moment
Imagines herself a child again
Hands raised
Twirling, wondering
beneath a halo of white
While the world stands
Stone still
Hushed
And it is achingly beautiful there.
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Independent author of fairy tales with a folkpunk and steampunk twist
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A storyteller who writes and scribbles, and calls it art.
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Beautifully said.
Thank you, anneli.
And this is achingly beautiful in the way you’ve captured that lovely atmosphere of snow 🙂