Is it true? Can this be our world captured in swirls of coloured oil? Is day old snow really this blue where long shadows fall? Do sharp-edged spears of balsam and pine poke skyward and not pierce the filmy haze of heaven? Will the Sun no more recast the landscape each fleeting moment through the long arc of daytime? Do Trout not grow weary as they hang motionless in icy depths where clear waters flow? Can Beaver in his lodge and Squirrel in his humble burrow harbour the spark of life to rekindle each Spring in a world without breath or heartbeat? From silence questions rise that can only be answered by looking away.
Another great one!