an invisible needle, sweet smelling cedar, blowing upon the lucid sickles, a lacy frost, to prick my nose and burn a rose color upon this cringing skin....and there,....a secret sparrow hides beneath a crackling pine cone, eyeing me with curiousity, why am I here when I could be home warm and sleepy...But the glassy glazed roads and twigs upon the enchanted crystal forests will let nary an eye to sleep and ignore this incomparable scene. What portal did I come through, how will I find my way back, from this seasonal Oz? But then for the first time, maybe I have just seen, what these old eyes see......

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