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Poet Thomas Hood wrote once “Frost is the greatest artist in our clime – he paints in nature and describes in rime.” I believe that this was the most icy place by rime I’ve ever seen before. In this sunless hill inside the forest everything from grass to trees was frozen. A thick layer of icy crystals had covered all the plants and the withered leaves that had created a colorful carpet on the ground. And, our noisy steps cracked the ice and the monotonous noise of the stream. The sun warms the earth, but not this small side of the world for many months. Here, everything must wait next April to feel the hot sunny rays coming.