Mytwosentences 125

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As twisty gray branches stretch to touch the dense cloud deck thickening above a rust of needles and pine cones, the cold breath of winter’s envious voice freezes on contact with the lifeless nape of a woodland neck.
After a valediction from the lifting morning fog, a drab landscape transforms into eudemonic lushness which flourishes within the untethered imagination of those willing to pause, calmly breathe and believe.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

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26 thoughts on “Mytwosentences 125

  1. Pingback: This Morning a Holiday Ode | Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie

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