Cold. So very cold. Rare, unusual. Pockets of white situated in nooks and crannies, filling crevices. Quiet and stillness, as if the very land held its breath in anticipation. For what? More cold? More snowfall?
A stirring of snow, the sound echoing loudly in the silence though no more audible than a whisper. A tiny hill of snow is disturbed; the air has uncovered a berry, dark against the stark white.
A stirring of snow, the sound echoing loudly in the silence though no more audible than a whisper. A tiny hill of snow is disturbed; the air has uncovered a berry, dark against the stark white.