Winter Fog Jigsaw Puzzle With tin

The first snow had just fallen, each flake sparkling like it had been painted by God’s hand. I stepped out into the cold, the crisp air filling my lungs and nipping my cheeks, knowing that every second mattered—the frost would not linger. The stillness was complete, broken only by the gentle crunch of snow beneath my boots and the faint scent of pine carried on the wind. As I hiked toward the creek, fog rolled along the water, curling and twisting around frozen branches like a secret dance of creation. Standing on a moss-covered rock, I felt the weight of patience and prayer in that moment—the hours spent watching, waiting, and trusting that nature would reveal itself exactly as it should. The soft blue light caught the snow on the trees and reflected off the water, turning an ordinary morning into something sacred.