The dawn had knocked at window glass
with water drops. Nils opened eyes.
The room was pierced with frosty-ice
light air. Nils stood calmly up
and put the cover on quiet Bee.
There was not any twig to lit.
The guy checked clothes. It had been dried.
He put it on and took an old
big woven basket. It was light.
Nils left the cozy hunting lodge.
The forest met him with the song
of the cold river. Nils went forth.
He noticed trees, which had been knocked.
Old branches stick out. Nils came close
to break them up for fighting cold.
A loud crack was going on.
Nils finished work and threw his gaze
to the small lodge, squeezed in trees hands...
by Thea Ariss
26.09.2025
In forest hands. The tale of the winter forest
© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125092707445
Свидетельство о публикации №125092707445
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