Is There No Mercy?

Days of endless frigid weather leaves me to wonder how anything can survive. My survival is far removed from the harsh reality of winter. Inside, my warm home contains a refrigerator that must run to keep its contents–my food–cold. Outside, while looking for signs of nourishment and life, I found a clump of green grass half buried in the snow. A few of its blades scratched a pattern around it as they blew in the bitter wind. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was signaling SOS.

grass in the snow

TheWriteBeat
TheWriteBeat

I am a writer who applauds your appreciation for nature, rhythm, and harmony.

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