The ground is so cold. The stiff blades of grass sheathed in ice crunch hard underfoot. Even the once squishy mud is frozen solid. The wind claws my cheeks. The sun shines coldly, making the trees cast stark shadows on the ground. It is eerily quiet. The chattering birds, rustling squirrels, and nibbling rabbits have hidden themselves against the chill. The flowers are dormant, tucked into their beds of frozen earth, alive but not actively growing.
It is as if everything were in a deep sleep, hibernating.
It is the bleak midwinter, when spring feels like a far off dream.
Sometimes it feels like my soul is in hibernation mode too. Alive, but not growing. Frozen in the dark. Unseen, buried underground.