The change in the seasons
It leaves you cold
as you make your way
walking through the woods
First frosts paint delicate crystals
across fallen tree leaves
they crunch underfoot
as you make your way home
as jack frost paints
you pull at your coat
wrapping your scarf
tight round your throat
A noise in the distance
and heart goes a quiver
there’s no one around
and in fear you do shiver.
Inkdrop is freelance writer with a passion for exploring the intersections between nature, architecture, and artistic expression. With a background in computing, and writing – his pen name harks back to when he played around with rhymes and a fountain pen. Now joined by a selection of created photos from an acquired DSLR camera He shares insights with scribblers of all backgrounds. Outside of visiting museums and exploring the latest in exhibits , he enjoys walking through the countryside in pursuit of the next rainbow.
The Inkwell 
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