Red on white .

... In winter bouquets from snowflakes. As the foliage frost patterns. Only bright red rowan with endless white heated debate. For it is not a hindrance snowstorm. And the wind did not hide her fire. On a huge sheet of snow small drops of red blood. Old raven , grown wise life, will not understand the natural riddle - why not fade in the cold hand of the berries bitter-sweet? Apparently they was not enough summer, and autumn is gone quickly, and burn with fury in December rowan spark...
Irene Zed

PS And I'm sorry for my English, I translated this with great difficulty.
Today is a special day for me...