Winter flowers Painting

Winter is really here. The cold winds, like invisible wind blades, slashed wildly, violently through the air. Through every moment. Through each time. Winter cold is still called sweet cold. Can't see, can't hold, can only feel. An invisible substance. Cold cold. Accidentally wind. As indifferent as an indifference, coming to the sequence, obeying the laws of heaven and earth, sealing the laws of nature. The north wind has returned. Wind blade of the wind cut the sharp marks on people. Dry and cold in the sky, bitterly stinging the skin. Cold and dry confirmed the trees. Only the tops remain.