It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it. John Burroughs
I felt all these things on our walk this morning, with winter still hanging on. The air was crisp, and the ground hard as a rock with crystals of ice and frost, but the sun shone soul through everything – lighting up the beauty that we often walk past and don’t even notice.
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