When I first happened across this ice encrusted birch tree I fancied I saw an old mans white tousled head, his hooked nose and piercing blue eye, sporting a snow white beard perched on a scrawny neck (the trunk of the tree). The eerie pink light reflected off the clouds at sunrise played across the face of the tree while the mist behind rolled in and out apparently with a will of its own. Too much caffeine and freezing conditions perhaps indulged these fanciful thoughts.

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