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Crystal Clear Winter has frozen the smallest movement outside, cold creeps into the cabin and I wake to tend a dying fire, poking at coals, adding kindling. A small whiff of smoke puffs back at me and I can taste the acrid woody warmth. Hidden away from the clanking, honking, rush of our yesterday I breathe clean air washed with a hint of pine. The dawn catches no sound, not the trickle of water nor your absent snore and from my frosted window I see a crystal world of unsoiled prospects. --- Judi Van Gorder An old one posted a long time ago at the Connection I brought it here to archive.