In the silence of dawn, frost-laden reeds stood like nature’s delicate calligraphy, their graceful arcs mirroring the fluid brushstrokes of the fiery sky. The lake, half-frozen and half-reflective, blurred the boundary between ice and light, reality and dream. Standing there, I was captivated by the fleeting poetry of winter—where even the smallest details are sculpted by the unseen hand of the cold.
