February morning

February morning. Quiet, frosty.
The sun rises from the snow-covered slopes.
The branches turn red tenderly, patterned.
There are no hints of clouds in the sky.

Long shadows lie lazily
drawing patterns on the snowy canvas.
Frost on the branches lurks playfully.
Everything is illusoryly frozen, completely.

Still sleeping, waiting for a miracle.
But spring will soon awaken the area.
To the surprise of the idle people,
and the end of winter sleep.