The morning sun
Cutting through air
So crisp you could
Hear it crunch
Like the ice underfoot
In the middle of the mud
A puddle
Frozen overnight
Is beginning to thaw
Crackle and break
Like the many blades of grass
That will not survive
As the climb begins
And slowly give way
To rocks and stones
So small and cold
And full of life
In the brooks and streams
That are sometimes waterfalls
And sometimes not
Walk through them
Your feet get wet
And cold
Like the mist and water
And berries and flowers
There are so many colours
Hiding between blue
and green and gray.

- Raghav Srivastava

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