The footprints on the snow were as recent as the colours of the painting canvas. The whirling sounds of storm, rustling the shurbs
and engaging my thoughts.
I will still bear the scars of the long lasting struggles of life or some soothing winds will embrace me.
I entered in my abode. The little tinkling of bell was soothing to my ears.
The warmth of the burning flames of fire was my solace.
It was the aroma of the cup of coffee that nurtures me like a sweet song.
My instincts could curl me in liveliness. Curiosity was the warmth between the two unnarrated tales.
Tales of love and war, passion and ambition and the unknown.
She told me, she is a muse ,not to many ,but a few. She is the centre that holds the beings together.
She passes her days knitting, life in affection and nights sowing the seeds for future.
There is always more to her language and words, more eternity that lies in the very core.
She can harness her own self inspite of being blended in the alloys of bonds and figures.
She is darkness, but she is the only light that can enlighten the every corner. She is a beautiful soul.
The shadows of the fire covering the faces, flames fading to sleep, the falling of snow halted for while as to listen the very murmur amongst them.
With every passing moment, life displayed more and more.