The frozen night sky, all clouded over,
a silent forest, save for the breeze
mischievously rustling the leaves,
as if to say that silence will never be perfect.
Coniferous trees, adapted to nature
the falling snow does not bury, suffocate and kill.
A forest breathes like a beast,
rearing its head to strike silently at the night.
The forest has a life of its own,
with its packs and herds and colonies.
But right now all is silent,
as if the thick blanket of fresh snow,
keeping the ground snug and warm,
has put all life to sleep for a while.
The ground has a mind of its own,
rising in places, and falling thereafter,
like waves on a solid surface.
The sacred silence suddenly is broken,
as a silhouette raises his head
to the white face in the sky
and sings of his freedom.

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