Lover’s Winter
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  Her sigh echoed across his mind like the howls of a thousand wolfhounds baying at their masters death.
  The hunter is gone, his ashs taken by the wind which shakes her body like a tree made naked by the harshest chills in Winters repertoire.
  A single tear from the hunter's eyes lies locked deep within the pendent her souls firmly grasps.

  A hand of ivory waves farwell with prayers that the zephyr will carry her message faithfully as the wind took the word of her lovers death to her ears.
  Wispering sweet nothings in her ears like phantoms of what once was True the breeze does not let her forget what in her heart she knows she cannot.
  The frost which covered the lands now melts with the heat of her soul, a heat fueled by hope.
  Her flowers are blooming, causing the earth to explode in a panorama of color, every tincture, shade and hue of life expressed within the carpets of aroma at her feet.