The wind drives the snow across a barren field.
Spring is a century away from today and I shiver in the cold, knowing a fire awaits me not far away and a glass of wine.
In vino calor.
The wind drives the snow across a barren field.
Spring is a century away from today and I shiver in the cold, knowing a fire awaits me not far away and a glass of wine.
In vino calor.