Frozen Flakes

“The frosted glass, simply stained by the flakes frozen when the temperature plummeted” Gun Roswell

Frozen Flakes

The artwork made by a winter’s storm onto the glass of the window quite worn

It wasn’t even that cold outside, but those flash frozen flakes, which during the night fell

Were plastered onto the surface, while the snow fall was trying to find purchase

And so, forming the most gorgeous art in the form of the various shapes

Only lasting there for a moment, the while the temperature remains under zero

And so, doing my best, in trying to preserve all of this, fading art before

They all start to melt away

Sprinkles of snow 

“The snow slowly falls, everywhere though, sprinkling small sparkles of dusty looking particles all around and everywhere, not one place uncovered by this phenomena of winter“ Gun Roswell

Sprinkles of snow 

The weather playing tricks on the onlooker, standing safely in the window looking outside from the comfort of the warm inside as the soft white flakes prancing and dancing about in the cold of the winter’s air, looking like small fairies bouncing back and forth, before they settle gently onto the surfaces they have chosen as their resting place. 

None of the creations of nature safe from the snow filled cheer, as the plot thickens while the flakes keep on playing their game of song and dance, before taking their place in the world wide blanket of white, making the onlooker smile as the outcome of this play displayed from the large window’s view, is quite pretty and cool.

As there is no rush to go outside, even if the newly formed cover would so like, either walking or skiing or perhaps a snow angel to be making, still, the onlooker remains inside, as it is actually, despite being pretty, way too cold and crispy, to even consider the odd stroll out there. So for now, the spectacle will be, looked at but not touched, at least, for now.

Flaky on the windowsill

“The wintery wonders right there on my windowsill, pretty little flakes forming all kinds of cool shapes“ Gun Roswell

Flaky on the windowsill

The cold weather had made its point, the rain from before turned into snow and hale, and then freezing onto the windowsill, creating tiny stars of ice, looking very nice. And of course they do as they are made to look like tiny stars, glittering and blinking in the cold winter’s early morning sun light ever so bright, making the onlooker smile.

Beautiful things the nature will spin, weather wise, no matter rain, snow or ice, there will always be something totally pretty left behind, right there on the windowsill for the casual viewer to look at, and that is a matter of fact, even if the lack of warm weather might cause some chills for the patrons of the nature kind of art.

But no matter the weather, there is really something so very special about the cold and the icy sparks attached tote surface of the window, as they will not there too long hold, so keep on admiring the view reserved only for a few moments in time until the chime of warmer weather starts to rise and then they are gone for good.

Red Flames

“Where there is a sparkle plenty, there must also be, a roaring fire, eventually” Gun Roswell

Red Flames

A sort of a sophisticated device
Landed, on the top of the table so fine
And then, without too much of an advice
I started staring, in to those flames so stable, and oh so very alive
The warmth of the dancing red life
Got me thinking firstly, but eventually, I got comfortably tired
And then, with a huge, content smile
I fell into a slumber, all the while
The fire kept on burning, but there was no dire
Only comfort of the slightly roaring fire
Letting me gently sleep and dream, of all things nice
Until it was time to move along the isle

Two Drops

“Nature painted with colours, odours and rain” Gun Roswell

Two Drops

In the early morning hours
Before the eternal showers
The soft rain fell
From the skies it came
Landing on a tiny ball
Which alone on the branch stalled
After all
It was that time of the year
When all living things should fear
The utter and total destruction
When nature goes under reconstruction
But the tiny little ball of a berry
Kept hanging on like a cherry
The pebbles of rain
Hanging on to it heavily
Dragging the tiny thing down
All the way, to the closest ground
Leaving it undone
Before the tiny ball of a berry
Too, was ultimately

The odds and ends of nature

“There are things you see and others you find, in the vastness of nature, some more belonging there, than others ;)” Gun Roswell

The odds and ends of nature

Discovered, in the gorgeous scenic scenes in the lush green forest
The summer soon over and left behind but one leaf
Now discarded, on the side, on the pavement, of a busy street
The colours soon fading, but not until there is some staining
A reminder of nature, on the side of the slap of concrete

But then, also discovered, something totally odd and out of place
A shopping cart, right smack in the middle of a stack of leaves it lays
Was it the bears or elks, whom decided they needed to run a beer run instead?
Of drinking from the clear flowing creeks and some new experience to seek
Or maybe, some over the top squirrels, running amok in the shop, just for the thrills

Whomever it was, and whatever they did
The odds and ends of nature, never dull for one single bit!

Painted Sun

“A water colour image or real life?” Gun Roswell

Painted Sun

As it rises and falls
It almost time stalls
A big bright fiery ball
Staring at it for too long
And you’ll too will call
Out in pain or more

But it’s so captivating
Looking at it stating
“How gorgeous, how fascinating!”
Why was I even waiting
To stand here watching
My mouth open wide gawking
At this scene so awesome, telling
Everyone should be paying
And all the artists painting
How can anyone look without fainting?
This nature’s wonder playing
There is nothing here faking
Only a star in the making

So, it rises and it sets
Never one day past lets
Always present in the sky
And each and every day i spy
The warming sphere
Never far but never too near

Going, going, going… Gone!

“You won’t miss it, until it’s gone, and then, you may end up crying” Gun Roswell

Going, going, going… Gone!

A sunrise, a scented flower, or even, a pretty face
Here today, but, suddenly gone, without one single trace
You try to look for it, in all the familiar places
But alas, there is nothing left, no image, no smell, even the shadows have disappeared
Everything vanished, completely wiped out, nothing left, but an empty space

What happened? You may think
As it takes such a long time for the realization to sink
When did I see it?
It was just there a moment ago, I remember it quite clearly,
It was just there, just yesterday, or was it a year ago, maybe even ten?
What the hell happened?
Am I remembering correctly, or was it all a false memory,
Maybe an illusion, some kind of self-made delusion?
Where did the time go?

It’s all just temporary, like a juicy bit strawberry
Only good for one day, then it will slowly start to decay
Leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth
Thinking what the hell was I really thinking about
I was trying to cherish the redness of it all
Trying my devouring, my tasting to stall
But now it is almost gone
So, where oh where did I go wrong?

Use it, eat it, visit it, live it, contact them
As everything in existence, they only remain for an instant
Then under the hammer they all will go
Going once, going twice, going three times, and then, gone!


“Sunsets, nature’s most beautiful paintings” Gun Roswell


Summer memories from a distant land
Holding, treasuring, in my hand
Remembering all the times spent
By the seashore, looking for something heavens sent

Keeping a close eye
Trying something to spy
A spectacle of enormous proportions
Which this darkening night brightens
The sunset most magnificent
Viewed by present day onlookers just like the ancients
Nature art spread across the night skies
There within, the truth of life lies


“Winter covers the world in crystal white magic” Carolyne Roehm


Like icing on the cake
Frosting forms on the window
Where ever the wind cold blows
The fragile frozen flakes
Suddenly, without warning, appearing
Before once more disappearing
Shapes for the imagination
The nature’s true creation
Trying them to capture
Preserve for the future
Always fails
The only thing, which remains
Is a tall tale
Without any trail