The beginning of winter is the beginning of winter. All things are collected, and the insects are sleeping. But collecting is not death, and sleeping is not the end. Some things grow in winter—underground, out of sight, during those coldest and most miserable nights. The roots go deep, and the seeds wait under the frozen soil, waiting for the next spring.
This story is about things that grow in winter.
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I plan to create a book group. If you are interested in joining, please leave a comment. Thanks.
Purpose: May lovers get married eventually