Strands of winter

They came silently, as the seasons with the meandering winds.
December's winter brought them falling into place, parting the raven black with its silver shimmers.

Age.

The silvers of white decorates my raven black crowning glory. Permenant they will be. Winter has finally found me.

The little bits of spring, summer, and autumn I have hurriedly scattered, now habours in little valleys rifted by the crafts of passing time.

I move rapidly no more.

The impulse of spring, the impatience of summer, the realisation of autumn, has now come to gather in the solace of winter.

The winds have stopped, and gathers, wrapping around my fingers of quieted breath.