The metallic shine betray the dampness soaking into the road.

Trapped air suspended delicately in the clear liquid.

The swings are silent, unmoving, in the stark landscape, patiently waiting for the sounds of children in the spring.

Late frost clings tenuously to new growth; a struggle between two seasons.

Buoyed upwards, it searches for dinner.

Invisible currents distort our perceptions but are tangibly felt.

The scent of ancient dust rises in the air in a forgotten land.

The callow growths cluster together.

The sleek dark harbinger of luck leaps effortlessly among the frothy waves.

The glow of the midday sun lights the sensuous dark curves wrapping around the land.