Over-wintering

Visible. Muddy fog is everywhere. The wide, lonely skies of dawn are drenched in milky masses like feathery feathers. Black daggers with bone handles stand like daggers, the frosty trees before advent. On the throats of mountains, like a multitude of melted, unmelted powdered-sugar-glasses, swan-white snow-peaks are created by the desert frost, a chilling, strange drizzle. 

Love-flame burnt in bleeding rays, happiness weeps and trembles. With frozen wings the living still struggles, hopelessly wavering. The solemn, noble silence is broken by the ominous exegesis of the envious. Twilight, fearful, waves no more to the landscape. 

Once more a sickly wreck, down below, who wishes to live and limps on. For he is grown great again, and the world's care is his own. They tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces, they tear each other to pieces. 

Heavy, sad, old-age trees, nodding under their unhappy burdens, all falter; shackling in their cold, skeletal arms the frozen winter's bullets. - I would stretch out my arm to fortune, if there were any. I would reach out to the dunna of lamb's-wool clouds, to feel the weight of tiny, piping sniffs, soft micchings. 

Now the world is all envious words and pretty window-panes. A restrained exaggeration slips through its mood, And all the jealous little canaries kick off each other their ornamental plumage, longing to be ornamented. Is it from hangman's ropes of insidious interests that its massive membranous fabrics are woven?