Wednesday, February 17, 2016



{Early 19th century. Via French , 'browned' < Old French rous 'reddish brown' < Latin russus 'red']}

There was a sudden urge to run across the placid blanket of snow, to watch in satisfaction as the slush of my boots dirty the untrodden paths with each step. The damage would feel irrevocable. Or so it would seem, until the snow waters way and return to back from where it came.

And I wait again, to trample the white and beautiful, as my spirit grows in rue.

You Might Also Like


  1. I love the picture description very artistic, and right of a novel. I hope I can write like that. If you did take the pictures above all are pretty my favorite was the blowing grass or wheat one.

    1. thank you so much! I was having a miserable day but this made it all the better. :')
      all my photos on this blog have been original (so far).