Words into Stories

I love that time of year when my breath sticks to the window, when frost covers the ground like a blanket, when the whole world seems asleep.

I love it how the wind rips through me like blades leaving chills in its path, how the frozen air turns my cheeks the color of holly. The cold makes me feel so alive, so aware of the warm. I curl my toes by the fire even though they are already buried beneath thick woolen socks.

I love the dark mornings, the world still sleeping as I rise, yet the sun is so tired that he closes his eyes much sooner than he should, much sooner than I do.

I love how the snow falls, sometimes delicately, sometimes furiously. Tiny crystals that twinkle as they’re watched, that dance when the wind blows, that fall as tears from the sky, beautified by the cold. At night, when our covering is void, the earth once again tries to mimic her scenery to the scenes of the galaxies as countless stars drift to our feet.

I love most how the bitter cold, the hardened ice, the dead world is all so beautiful. Everything is so white and pure like the birth of a new year, a new stage of life for the earth. Every snowflake, though surrounded by thousands who seem identical, falls separately, so distinct, and so tiny that only one can be noticed for a second as it falls. Piled together, they create a sea that puts the world to sleep. Frozen clouds made from stars, distinct and utterly different stars. Present for a moment, then melted and forgotten. Each dissimilar, yet alone is altogether worthless.

This winter world, this wintertide – I have never seen a more beautiful representation of life.