Your words paint winter’s breath so dear—

Bare branches trace the sky’s cold face,
A delicate, skeletal embrace.
The earth exhales a breath of white,
A fleeting dance of frost and light.

The scent of pine, both sharp and deep,
Mingles with the woodsmoke’s sweep.
A symphony of scent and sound,
In this quiet, sacred ground.

The crunch of snow beneath my feet,
A rhythm soft, a gentle beat.
Each step a prayer, each breath a song,
In winter’s breath, I find I belong.

The garden waits, in slumber dressed,
A canvas of the winter’s rest.
Yet in its heart, a promise stirs,
Of spring’s return, of life’s resurgence.