May 2, 2010 - 2:57pm — Harakka
... Letting you assume that Death is soon upon its wing. Up there the wind dances with its frostbitten breath, shedding the tears of a dying element. The sky is depressed. So is this little breeze that flows in your neck, that grand being on legs, whom this colorless bird now have placed its black and glistening eyes upon. This bitter, yet gentle snowfall have merely but tainted this ground with these shades of grey. The soil is as hard as stone under your feet/hooves, and might it even be a bit slippery, down this little path and lake. The wind, the snow, has the mind in their might, and for whatever reason is eagerly forcing one to listen at this silence over this place. A very sad scenery, is what this magpie above your head is witnessing. She is listening to the shallow breaths of yours, curious, awaiting... Prove to her that you're not as computed, as what she may be thinking. Are you heading, slowly pacing, forth to that water to see if you could get a glimpse of your portrait in that soon crystalized mirror?
[interaction, human/deer.]
