Photography

The heavy snowstorm had surrounded the area like a curtain of fog; the eye could not see. The trees had bent silently under the weight of the snow, the branches were covered in a pure white blanket. Everything was silent, but that silence was creating storms inside the man. The sharp wind and the cold hitting his face made his wait even more unbearable.

It felt like hours had passed, but the bus was still not there. He slowly put his frozen hands in his pockets, but the cold had seeped into his bones. “Maybe it will never come,” he thought for a moment. But still, he did not want to go. Because somewhere there was a glimmer of hope that that bus would come. And maybe that hope was the only thing that had not been lost in this endless whiteness.