Our Winter

Everything becomes more magical when it's covered in snow, a velvety layer of a new start. Imperfections and abnormalities are covered, everything is equal everything is white. But the snow is merely the soft piano accompanying the harsh and angry cold that bites into your skin and stings your eyes, painting your cheeks and turning your breath into smoke. The conductor of the symphony stirs up the snow and blowing it in all directions builds up a crescendo so powerful the atmosphere has now become a gigantic white cyclone of freezing flakes, forced into compliance by the heavy wind like bow being guided by the musician. We stand there hand in hand sharing the warmth of our bodies, subconsciously being pulled into the music, our hair dancing along with the flutes, shivers as strong as the drums, you swaying like the body of a cello, I look at you in amazement and wonder; like a soloist you stand out amongst the tumult, the icy sting in my chest has thawed and your perpetual warmth has filled me.