Winter


On the passing of a breath
smoky curls garland snowy clouds
– the end of November.
That evening’s bliss
sleeps on still untill
the morning, dressed in a winter-robe.

P.S. Riding my bike against the wind this morning, my eyes started tearing from the cold. A minute later, after I parked the “vehicle” the tears had turned into small ice crystals stuck on my face. Winter has arrived for good.

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