Mountains

Snow, sure, snows on shores. So empty, so quiet.

I see nothing for miles. Some unique looking bush or plant here or there.

I could scream, you could hear the echos for miles. The birds are louder than citizens.

A basin trapped with mountains and hills surrounded by jagged cliffs and pointy tips,

drizzled in snow, hidden by fog. The peaks don’t look so far away from here.

but they only get taller the closer you get. The rock formations are an art form,

standing since the dawn of time. Astonishing pointy things they are, indeed.