Winter

Winter

His name was Winter and like the season he was pale and cold and at times beautiful.

  Hair soft and white, styled in  concentric and intricate curls like  flakes of snow under a microscope flowed over  and down his back; a coverlet for his shoulders.
Winters features were  sharply pointed of nose and chin,cheeks carved hollows mounted by the faintest ladies blush.  His smile  was never warm or inviting, his lips were thin but shapely and reminded girls of ice cream eaten on a summers day.
One simply wanted to lick his lips and taste his tongue and dream of sweets and ices.

Eyes old and worldly stared bemusedly out from under thin and elegant brows.  Eyes the colour of ancient ice concealing  mammoths, saber-toothed tigers and  mysteries. Eyes  flashing like an ice storm when angered, or melting the  hardest heart on days of snowman building , ice forts and childrens shrieking laughter.  Eyes that could shed tears akin to the first days of spring thaw.

  Winter wore shirts of the deepest green and pants of darkest brown tucked into boots of the softest tan topped with the  fur of sleeping giants and timid creatures, rolled into warm nests.  His hands always moving were  slender and well formed, fingers long and nails blue tinged and  slick.
People who saw him talking told those they mentioned him to, of  hands moving like water  under ice and a  voice the cadence of  ice melts and hail in one moment, and the fall of  windless nights and snow angels in the yard under soft flickering  lights of Christmas trees the next.

  Winter didn't just walk he glided when happy or  stormed when angry. He shrieked when ired and sighed gently when aroused.  He smelt of  cold crisp air with the hint of  warming fires and chestnuts, with the underlying hint of  sledding and shushing and peaceful dreams.  Tall and  finely made Winter was the dream of summers gone and  the burst of life to come.