Snow has a way of settling the erratic fires within and yet leaves my hearth flames so healthy and bright.
In the sleek midwinter, the sunlight brings a brightness to the snow that reflects upon the pure-child soul.
The newly clothed trees rose as white fairytale beings in that wintry landscape, for the grey clouds had bequeathed a bounty of snow.
Snow danced in the light, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. As Ava watched her eyes grew that tiny bit wider, as open as her kid sister when she saw the street had become as a fresh new page awaiting her playful feet and mittened hands.
They say we live in the moment, that the past is always gone, and each day is something new, a stepping stone into a future we dream of even in the cold. For me, that is snow, that is those wintry days of bluster and ice. I see the earth of yesterday covered as white as any new page and the toddler in me rises as if armed with a rainbow of crayons, eager to set that right. Yet today, I'm happy to simply walk in it, create a few footprints of my own. I watch them tumble, those feathered crystals, their chaotic flight to form a blanket that could not be more uniform, more orderly. Yet for some their destination is to come to my hand, to alight upon these ungloved fingers and let my warmth be their spring melt.
Snow rests upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covers the rich, deep wood in perfect white. The snow is a gift-wrap only spring will open, revealing the engrained beauty that lives safely below, protected these long winter months. As the sun rises each morning, bestowing brilliance, igniting colours to vibrant hues - man dreams below of planting seeds, of the bounty of the gardens to come.
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