I agree with Robert Frost. The woods are lovely--dark and deep.
They are cold and mysterious and moody--yet beautiful in a quiet way.
This is still life.
I wish I could step through the page and walk a one-lane deserted road whenever I want.
My siblings, cousins and I played on these cliffs when we were kids.
I love their craggy old faces, the lines that deepen with every ice storm, rainfall, cold snap.
The mist hovers around them like a breath, warm and personal.
How can spiky blooms form on sheets of ice on moving water?
I don't understand how it happens, but it's beautiful.