Day high and gray, us living amongst winter, her wares. There is no sun, just a glimpsed, growing moon. The snow is trammeled, left in bright, rotted patches high on the blue mountains. Breathe comes rapid, is expelled. Each morning exponential, limitless in her ability to remind of limitation. Our days are our days. We are surviving, simply glancing time and again off the faces of this earth. Beauty, may it continue to be witnessed.