gold ink. second page in.

second of February 2016.
imbolc.

the river liquid swift and swollen, going where it needs to go and paying no heed to the trees scattered like casualties along it's banks. the rest stand strong and defiant as the wind thunders through them. the white bells of snowdrops dance and the soft green spears of crocus somehow manage, as they always do, to break through the cold hard dirt. the wonder of it all gloriously intoxicating. how ridiculously savage and determined and ravishing nature is. mother. source. beauty.