Shelly's Poetry for Thursday, February 19, 2009

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Upon Arrival

The trees have a reddish tint to them (Little buds, I suspect)... Each day they are seizing the view of the foothills. The moist snow clings to the branches of the trees emitting an appearance of frozen ice while releasing icicle–like utterances CRACKLING — CRACKLING — under the pale skies nestled... Sign in to see full entry.

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