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When the World Breathes

The world breathes on cold mornings. Too vast for mortal ears to hear, its sigh whispers forth, vaporous, like dragon’s breath. Frosty streamers coil around the dark green trees and wind past rocks in the icy river. Thick, hard to see through, it is like a veil across this world. Is it a mourning veil, heavy with sadness? Or is it the veil of a maiden, hiding her face with mischievous eyes, not ready to be seen and concealing her merry laughter from the dazzling world?
Soon, the sun rises, banishing the thick mist from the world, and light shines through on a glittering landscape that steals the breath of everyone who sees it. And beneath it all, the world breathes.





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