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Sitting on my porch, I can imagine the beginning of snow. The first white snowflakes will lazily swirl from the sky, and one of them will circle the porch beam, following the Christmas lights like a miniscule dancer, falling slowly. The pale gray sky's horizon will begin to undulate with a graceless troupe of snowflakes, twirling and cartwheeling without regard for rhythym or style. In a gentle breath of wind, the dancers fallen to the ground will revive for a sudden burst of movement, ascending energetically, then drifting back to earth. The performance from the clouds will reach the branches of our cedar tree to rest on its strong branches. When the wind ceases, there will be a stillness and silence so dear that not even birds dare to make a sound. The only movement is be the ever-present dancing of snowflakes falling to the ground.

I have never seen the sky crumble into snowflakes, covering the ground in a crunchy, white blanket. I have never heard a silence so loud that even thoughts are muffled. My fingers have never become so stiff and cold from throwing snowballs that they burn when I breathe on them. I have never seen a pond that was frozen so thick that you could skate on its uneven surface.

Still, when I sit on my porch, I can imagine these things. It is almost as if I am there, experiencing it. As if I have experienced these things every winter my entire life. The frustrating moment is when I stare at the gray winter sky in December and all that falls are fat raindrops, and the cedar tree in the yard becomes wet and dark, and dirty water runs down the street, and the loud sound of falling water drowns out the white silence in my mind.

(Open for comments, I guess. Tell me if you enjoyed it or if it was boring. While I liked it, the author is always biased.)
sorry, if i'm harsh, i'm always harsh, to everyone....
anyway, you tend to wax a bit cliche...it's typical to say our fingers, our toes, our nose froze, just in different ways...i know that your character has never experienced snow, but there really isn't any importance in that unless they look at it from a different angle. you do have good imagery though, very good. i dunno, is this just a short story, or prose or what? i'm a bit confused on it's point

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