Whatever season it is. There is always a new song. The beauty is that the old song does not die, it exists with the rivers, the mountains, the ocean, and with the season itself. So will it exist as I am alive and so will it exist, as I die.
It was snowing that morning. Houses, trees and fields were all laden with fresh snow. I put on layers of clothing, warm gloves
IMAGES daily prompt: Doubt In the labyrinth; down the memory lane, a tripper reflects images- sweet, sour, salty; bad, bitter, bright. Faces, known-unknown enter exit