December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.
A sensual life is a ghostly existence where you live on the surface and your soul passes through everything, touching nothing.
The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.
I have found, beauty is the illumination of the mind.
The religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky.
Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.