A thick mist hung over a field once occupied by lush emerald grass, now a sheet of white, eerie hay. Christmas is coming.
The trees are icy fingers desperately reaching for the night sky, as if trying to keep it in it’s firm grasp till sunrise. Christmas is coming.
Freezing white shells angrily pelt the ground, trying to pries the warmth from the depths of it’s furnace. Christmas is coming.
J & A LTC 