CONVERSATIONS OF CHAMONIX.

I stroll through the fir trees,

Brushed by their chatter,

Goaded by the cool breeze,

Whilst the crows chase each other

From branch to branch, disturbing mounds of snow

Precariously balancing on perspective boughs and

Twigs,

A sight of winter magic never seen, if these trees

Did not exist.

Dusk has a charm that stains the scene;

The endearment, of faces walking, laced in tangerine

By the hue of the setting sun.

And the mist that slowly descends down the slopes 

Of the mountain like a giant yeti,

Trapping all in it's wake, confusing vision, until it's time

Is done.

I stroll through fir trees;

Brushed by their chatter,

Goaded by the cool breeze,

Whilst the crows chase each other cawing playfully

As the stream trickles and natters!