The Underbelly

Chills roll down the branches of bare silver maple trees gathered together with the reflecting sun light off the white snow from the ground. No birds or animals take cover in the dissapearing foliage. The trees are all alone on the horizon. The sun gently pushes through the branches to melt any existing ice on the branches but the breeze still holds the temperature down and it melts, it drips and drips. . . . . . . . . .