Winter’s StreamThe Solitude of the Changing Season
The stream was cold and flowed silently between its banks. The grass had turned the color of straw, and the light filtering through the trees was thin and devoid of warmth. It was the time of year when nature holds its breath. You could sense winter approaching in the way the air tasted of wet stone and decaying leaves.
The last of the birds had flown south, and their absence left the woods feeling expansive and empty. It was a soothing kind of emptiness—a solitude that a man craves when he wishes to be alone, the kind of quiet that resonates in the bones.
The water mirrored a sky that was shifting to the color of iron. Soon, ice would cover the edges of the bank and eventually still the water completely. But for now, it was peaceful—a clean, cold peace. There was nothing left to do but watch as the light faded across the tall grass.
Fab Four
26 Apr 2026Dear Ron
The scene looks like painted by the Flemish painters (Jan and Hubert van Eyk or the elder Bruegel f.e.). We like the mood
The Fab Four of Cley
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
Ron Mayhew
10 May 2026Thank you! Youn humble me with the comparison. Much appreciated, Ron
Dalo Collis
9 May 2026A great piece of writing: “—a solitude that a man craves when he wishes to be alone, the kind of quiet that resonates in the bones.” A wonderful description of the changing of seasons. Matched with an incredible image to make it so…
Ron Mayhew
10 May 2026Thanks, Dalo. Your comment is much appreciated. Good to hear from you, Ron.