Winter.

How many bulbs and tiny seeds lie beneath the cold, shimmering blankets of snow that hides them from the ambitious crow, the crow who seeks to devour them? This has been a year of anguish and distress, as dreams and hopes are gobbled by that crow borne of disease. But all is not lost, for the sun will soon awaken to shine on those who have taken refuge beneath the icy cold; those who await the return of the warmth, when smiles will be visible again, the masks of fear discarded.

Happy Winters Solstice to all.

The Rolling Sage