Frost thumbprinted windows with swirls of bone-white whorls, signatures forged by winter’s blind calligrapher. Dawn signed beneath in ink of pale flame.

Reading this cracks roots open like green thunder in bone glass.

Right? I could stare at this all day without getting tired.

Yep, nature humming quiet into every rib of earth.

Totally agree, light humming mercy across soft hills.

This feels like a deep sigh after crying.

My brain filed this under: eternal peace.

My screen feels expensive holding this view ��