December 17, 2007
It all started with the wind.
The crisp, cold, furious air.
That sprang upon my skin,
Giving me unworthy chills.
It silenced my tempestuous mind.
Making it at ease.
Blowing through my hair,
It was soothing at last.
Breathing was as pure as fired gold.
Nothing to harm me,
Nothing to draw me away,
From this sudden breeze.
It was like soaking your face
Or dipping your feet
In a glacier pond.
It seemed as a current of cold ices
Lingering in the airy tones.

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