The winter snow has fallen, upon the tree and on the ground, doubling its branches in size. The cooler days are now the coldest days we remember.
The ground is covered up, it’s white quilt is beautiful, and beneath it all the ground lays dormant, no hopes of peaking out.
The morning is frozen in winter, it does not move, it does not breath, for it is frozen in its path.
When the breast of winter pulls down upon the fibers of the soul, the morning can be so brutally cold the day can freeze without warning.
But us, like the tree, can look forward to those warm days with just a bit of time, just a bite of luck, just the feeling sure to come.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Tiffany Odom
Between Lawton and Altus
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