@marzbal
A road runs through a forest buried in snow, along the quiet slope of a mountain.
A narow trace of hope acros endles white its destination unknown.
Branches bend beneath winter’s weight, and silence setles heavier than the snow itself.
Yet every path even in the coldest season carrries a hidden possibility within it.
Will spring be waiting at the end of this road?
Is there a tender green bud
breathing just beyond the white curve ahead?
Perhaps only walking will reveal the answer, for no road is drawn without meaning, and no winter lasts forever.
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