Winter gold: the sparrow's footprints in the snow.
Trees lose their leaves in blizzards like these.
A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.
So I am not a broken heart. I am not the weight I lost or miles or ran and I am not the way I slept on my doorstep under the bare sky in smell of tears and whiskey because my apartment was empty and i...
You can't undo loss. You can't unmake a mistake.
The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow...
I'm falling apart, one part after another. Falling down on the world like snow. Half of me is already on the ground, watching from below.
It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How co...
I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.
I am extremely involved in the design process of both my brands, Winter Kate and House of Harlow 1960.
It is snowing and death bugs meas stubborn as insomnia.