Snow

Snow has fallen. It lies, crisp and deep, rounding edges and softly changing all to clean white freshness. The air is sharp and clear. A pale cold sun creeps, hesitant, into a pale cold wedgewood sky. Trees stand stark black and bare, branches laden with icing sugar, dredging over the ground below with every puff of breeze.

I stand in awe of this transformation. The world is born anew, transformed by this miracle. Each footstep leaves its mark upon perfection, like the first footprints on the moon, stamping mankind’s rude interruption onto an untouched world.