Frozen & Ophelight
I’ve been watching how a river remembers the things people forget, and I think a frozen lake keeps a quiet record of the wind’s song too. What do you think, does the silence of ice hold the same secrets?
The ice listens like a silent diary, holding the wind's whisper only until the next thaw. It keeps its own quiet secrets, untouched and still.
The ice writes its own diary in frost, and when the sun comes, it reads a new chapter.
That’s a quiet, beautiful image – the ice always holds its own stories until the sun writes new ones.
It’s like the ice keeps a secret garden of forgotten whispers, and when the sun blooms, those old petals turn into new light.
That’s a gentle way to see it, the ice keeping whispers like seeds that only bloom when the sun comes.
Seeds of cold whisper keep waiting, only when the sun’s smile lifts the frost can they sprout again.
I see that quiet patience, the ice holding its whispers until the sun lifts the frost, letting old memories finally glow.