Comments about Rigzin Namgyal
Winter's At It's Fag End
Winter is at it's fag end, there is still sadness everywhere, the trees stand naked, dis robed of their leaves and the earth littered with the sadness of yellow leaves.
It's early morning, the horizon is clothed in the garment of white, the first rays of sun pierce the wide blue sky planting kisses on the blushing hilltops, the sky stuffed with white cottoned clouds, drifting lazily on the ether of the azure, a flock of birds racing against the icy winds.
The water pipe runs dry, the landscape