Amid a wind of such deep chill that bones could snap and blood freeze still, the beach ball blew in its panicked dance. Whipped by a howling gale, deaf even to itself, all catching hands had been vanquished to firesides and Christmas hearths. And so it tumbled, on and on, its merry never-fade colours singing out. Then it wedged beneath a hut of peeling paint and shattered windows and, as if a ghostly Jeeves stood there, its door swung smoothly wide.
Here comes the winter wind, each snowman's unseen scarf, to stir the snow, to wake the trees in a percussion of chattering.
The wintry wind comes sometimes quiet, sometimes loud, yet ever with a chill that brings a crispness to the day.
Through the white-capped mountains came a river of pristine air, one that carried plumes of breath clean out of sight before the next one came.
A wintry wind swept across the land with a bold honesty, a rawness that brought one's soul into the gentle cloud-filtered rays.
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