In the heart of winter, I stand,
Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.
The snow blankets the earth,
Each flake a delicate touch,
Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.

The trees are skeletal fingers,
Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,
Their limbs bare, stripped of life,
Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.
I watch, an observer, detached,
My breath visible in the frigid air.

I do not impose warmth upon the scene,
Nor do I seek comfort in its cold beauty.
I accept it, as it is,
A world of stillness and quiet.

In this frozen moment,
I find clarity, a vision unclouded
By the warmth of human emotion.
The winter world speaks in whispers,
Its language one of stillness,
A silent meditation on existence.

I stand, Man in the snow,
In tune with the cold,
Seeing the world without colour,
Without sound, without feeling,
Yet understanding it all the same.