The stile was Christmas cake white it grabbed my glove but i resisted and retrieved it. Puddles of ice adorned my path as i walked gingerly a flock of geese flew above. A blackbird and a song thrush sang their tune as i spied a cobweb moon. I walked towards my favorite tree hugged it and felt the heat of the sun rising and warming the ground. The birds stopped singing and everything around me became a hush and whisper as the sun reflected its colour on me.