The Crows of Winter by puimun
Frigid skies, and barren plains of endless blue that stretch unto eternity. It's all a balencing act. The act of being and bearing. Bearing. And Being. As the winds tear 'round like crows of winter. Laugh with a wild laugh that tosses caution off and to the ground, just a speck so distant. And as the hesitations and clinging garments of regrets fall away (...away...away...) cast off from peteringteeteringtumbling...
And into the blue.