In the early hush of dawn,
the world holds its breath—
a delicate breath of winter,
softly nesting on windowpanes.

I stand, watching,
as the glass transforms,
etching lace patterns,
like whispers of ancient stories,
each frost a silent tale
of cold nights and warm hearts.

Outside, the world glimmers,
a silvered landscape,
where trees wear coats of crystal,
and the earth is a blanket
of untouched white—
a canvas waiting for the first step
of a wandering soul.

Inside, warmth breathes gently,
the kettle sings a familiar tune;
each sip of...