When one has lived for so long upon a fiery ledge, the calling of winter's soul comes as a redemptive season song.
The winter chill invites us inward, toward the calling of our hearts, to feel the warm blood that flows through each and every vein; tis the season for such meditations, for these most humane echoes, to wonder if a true wonderland can ever have frontiers.
The winter season comes as a ballerina, one so at home upon the ice. Her chilled winds twist in pirouettes, her earthen branches in pure-white dress.
The winter season comes as glove to outstretched hand, wrapping its icy song in a way that brings out a my inner glow.
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