Sultry spring shrinks in horror as the glacial scream of dying winter rings in our frigid ears. The cerulean heavens rage with cold stillness in the brittle morning air. Even the certainty of summer becomes dubious in light of this brutal reminder that we are not in control of the weather, nor of our lives.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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One Response to Frigid

  1. msrustin says:

    Well good morning sunshine to you, too…great imagery!

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