The eyes close, and the tears flow, and the winds blow, and the color of scarlet rapidly drips on snow, and words are spoken that no one will ever know. A diary heavy with immense sorrow is slowly let go, and the coldness reveals its bitterness as if trying to freeze the moment in the bosom of winter’s secrets. Winter blankets the remnants with snow’s heaviness encapsulating tears, sorrow, affliction, love, beauty, and written sentiments that are endless. Scarlet infuses it with its loudness interrupting the frozen white silence. Towering trees stripped of the leaves of their branches sway in strong winter winds as a solemn acknowledgement of what they witnessed. So heavy is the sorrow of life — the pain, the torment, the agony, the indifference. The winds become calm — snow gently falls on the beloved one who sleeps in the cradle of winter’s balm. Scarlet expands as far as it will go, soaking the pages that document the times and places of the depths of sorrow.