My Winter's Journey

Winter walked into the town, dressed only in shades of white and gray. The snow crackled, protesting beneath his feet. The houses were huddled close together against the cold, a fresh coat of snow neatly brushed on them. He crunched onward, admiring his handiwork. A few kids threw snowballs, laughing and screaming as they gamboled through the square. He almost stopped them; after all, it was his work they were playing with. He ended up simply stifling a cough.

Winter sighed. He used to be able to whip up an ice age with a thought; now covering a village left him winded. Winter tried to shrug these thoughts off his back, and continued onward. The children marched across his path, unaware of his presence. One of them stopped, frozen in her tracks, a girl with hair like strands of midnight. She looked straight into Winter’s frozen eyes, and he into her blazing sockets; so much life, so much innocence. She hesitated once, then followed her friends into the afternoon. He watched her go, and sighed, the weariness showing in his stare.

He glanced skyward. Even with the cloudy censorship of the sun, he still knew he was late. He knew he had more canvases to fill, more landscapes to paint. A gust of wind kicked some snow into the air, and by the time it settled, he was gone.

-Kyle T. McDaniel

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