The landscape has become silent. I see birds through my window, but they make not a sound. They sit on top of trees and watch and then, fly away as a group.
The seeds of life are now buried beneath the soil, protected by an insulating layer of snow.
The snow also hides the colors of nature beneath a monochromatic landscape.
Winter has its own stories, but one must look hard to find them. Because winter is the silent season, it will let you find its stories but it will never utter a single word.