Description Clouds reflect on the ice as its fingers spread out in the dead grass. This was made when my internal psyche oft reflected the cold of quiet winter. I now understand there is value in low moments where inspiration feels dead and frozen.
Description Clouds reflect on the ice as its fingers spread out in the dead grass. This was made when my internal psyche oft reflected the cold of quiet winter. I now understand there is value in low moments where inspiration feels dead and frozen.