In the heart of winter, I stand,

Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.

The snow blankets the earth,

Each flake a delicate touch,

Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.

 

The trees are skeletal fingers,

Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,

Their limbs bare, stripped of life,

Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.

I watch, an observer, detached,

My breath visible in the frigid air.

 

I do not impose warmth upon the scene,

Nor do I seek comfort in its cold beauty.

I accept it, as it is,

A world of stillness and quiet.

 

In this frozen moment,

I find clarity, a vision unclouded

By the warmth of human emotion.

The winter world speaks in whispers,

Its language one of stillness,

A silent meditation on existence.

 

I stand, Man in the snow,

In tune with the cold,

Seeing the world without colour,

Without sound, without feeling,

Yet understanding it all the same.