Every day, a photograph, a poem. Yes. The day then was cold as it is today– with a bite to the nose but a sight for the eyes as the country side is covered in snow and the land and the hills and the road go on and on and on. It’s a calming and pleasant view where tracks of animals and humans are artifacts of what went before but now is silent. And so, a poem.
Winter cold spins blue skiesSheri Edwards
of thin, transparent clouds tinged
in sun’s red above the frosted hills sparkling
up and down and on and on
as if the earth were infinite
1374 days of posts in a row on Ask What Else