Blogger: Sean Locke, a Volunteer Bird Surveyor at Strumpshaw Fen Reserve
Winter Hues of sadness paint the tired sky.Suffocated by grey clouds.Tears shed heavy.Soaking the skin of this lifeless land. The breath of Winter lingers.An icy grip, harsh strangle on the throat.Silver light of the moon shimmers.The shadow of night creep quickly to cast. Black knarly fingers entangle,Skeleton-like, empty of life, pointing to the heavens,Towering bodies of trees,Their flesh cold and damp.Hush is this land that lies deathly still.Slumber through Winter's long stay-Until the warmth of the sun is reborn.
Photo by Mike Richards (rspb-images.com)