He is like dew on lush green; precious. As heavy snow fall of night melts partially with the arrival of sun in the morning, his one glance melts year old frozen hesitations. With heavy strokes as those solitary branches shake off the dust of snow, the sound of his footsteps wipes out all the fear from within. His touch, as shrilling as cold wind, freezes the soul. As the nightingale from Keats' po etry fills melancholic perfume in air during winter night, his voice pours a mellifluous symphony all around leaving a lyrical flow to swing in. Seldom did the winter know how gorgeous it can appear when the darkness falls. With the rising moon the silvery glow reigns, giving the grayish layer an ethnic touch. How awestruck the drowsy traveler remains only the beguiling night knows. Likely, his ponderous silence and weepy hushes reveal the dense secret he hides within. His warm breathes melt down the curtains of shame to exhale out the naked feelings in most affectionate way ever. Winter...