Icy Breaths
And the cold wind blew and the breath of a polar bear puffed as he lumbered along the frozen sea. With every step he puffed white mist into the air like steam from an “iron horse”. His misty breath rose in this dry air high above to form wispy clouds. They are carried to distant places far to the south. A camper sits near his campfire and gazes upward at the white wispy clouds traversing open sky not thinking of their source. To soon the journey ends for these wispy clouds. As the south warm winds meet them they are suddenly no more. Far to the north the bear looks to the sky and shakes his huge head and seems to say, “My song of life is my breath.”
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