Wild turkeys

In the pale light of a winter morning, the mist spreads like a silk veil over the sleeping earth. Two shadows move through the silence of the frost— the breath of the wind brushes the withered grass. The male, king of the clearings, spreads his golden and copper wheel, a living sun at the heart of the cold. His plumage whispers the pride of the seasons, and his red throat glows like embers in the snow. At his side, his mate walks discreetly, clad in the earth’s sober colors. Her light footsteps trace poems in the white powder, and her calm, deep gaze seems to listen to the silent song of the mist. Around them, the world holds its breath, the forest is silent, the light hesitates. It is a moment suspended in time, where wild beauty becomes prayer, and where life, even in the cold, still beats with a tender and eternal glow.