The garden was full of ice and snow, the ground was covered in beautiful soft snow that gave a crunch sound when stepped on. Prints were left, prints of the passer by as she stepped lightly on the snow, careful not to leave a mess of prints.
The roses once in full bloom in the summer were now asleep in their beds of white powder. The wind gently swayed them as if in time to a lullaby.
The sky had started to turn into a magnificent light blue colour, signalling the fall of yet more snow. Winter was here, and for once the snow came, almost refusing to stop falling....
This is a short description I might include parts of in a chapter of one of my stories, I especially like the part about the wind swaying the roses. biggrin
Here are some site I must check back on on Saturday:
- HERE
View User's Journal
Splattered Letters
 |
