Of Ink and Ice

What fell designs have besieged my mortal mind?

For winter has come calling, bring ice and snow upon the revery of autumn.

I am craven, stark-raving by a change of scene.

Spring fork the hounds of my imagination to roll and bark in banks of white.

Inspiration falls as soft as icy down, crystallizing around my ears.

Now is the time to feverishly place pen to paper.

Stories come now unbidden in the darkest hours of an arctic winter.

I can not contain them, my head spills forth with their songs.

Winter’s inspiration has struck me to my core.

And I must write.


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