The Scent of Ice

Desolate, the land fatigued under the wind’s constant barrage. Trees scattered themselves distantly, branches barren. Spindly, they leaned away from the monstrous howling, not strong enough to survive should the storm turn its fury upon them.

White suffocated the ground. Occasionally a deadened leaf could be seen collapsed out from underneath in eternal sleep. But eventually it, too, would be buried and forgotten by even the branch from which it fell.


Flakes of white fall, noiseless in their descent, stifling everything around them. Brilliant, soft, they breathe in life, and exhale a frozen land. Uncaring, they land as the breezes will. They fly on the whim of the wind, tossed, turned, until finally they are placed in a manner that is almost an apology for their rough voyage.

Then they rest, feeding from the land around them. There they grow, larger, stronger, covering stretches of once bountiful land. The scent of ice permeates.

Even the sun, with all its flame, is not strong enough to chase them away. They reflect each glare with defiance that grows stronger in unity. With brilliance they chase away the sun, and yet the next day it returns again, a perpetual battle.

And then finally one day they begin to quiver. The sun has gained strength, and they droop slightly, weary now. They shiver at the growing heat, shrinking as they curl away from it. Their strength drips from them, angels’ tears.

Then something green spears through them triumphantly, and they sigh away slowly.

A bird’s call sings through the still air.

Hope, Perhaps

She was slow at first to wake. Sleep was reluctant to release her, draining sluggishly from her veins. Her eyelids forced the last vestiges out as they fluttered, opening lethargically. It took a few tries, but eventually awareness took its place.

She breathed lightly, feeling a slight sting in her nose at the dry air. She felt it brush against her cheek with an icy hand, and curled up a little bit tighter under the blankets, savouring the warm haven they created. Such a contrast to the winter that breathed through the small opening in her window.

There was something different about the air today, though. And as she glanced at the walls, they seemed to glow. It felt crisp and fresh. Clean. Something stirred, hope perhaps, and her eyes opened wider, suddenly awake.

Her blinds were closed, forcing the light to peek through in thin lines. But it was bright nonetheless. Brighter than usual. She checked the clock, but it was early yet. The sun was as tired as she was, still barely crawling past the horizon, just tickling the ends of the grass in the yard.

Her hand lasted mere moments out from under the blanket. It was cold. And yet the light coming from the window above her called. For a moment she curled as tightly as possible, then stretched, shivering as her feet delved into the realms of her blanket that were unblessed by the heat.

Then with a breath of courage, she threw back the covers and sat up, resting momentarily as her feet touched the floor. She wrapped the covers around her shoulders for momentary warmth, a brief moment of respite during her arduous journey.

She stood quickly and crossed her room, reaching for the warm robe that promised comfort. She slipped it on and tied it in relief. Slippers soon cushioned her feet against the cold, and she made her way to the window, heart thumping audibly in her chest.

She pulled up the blinds, wincing as white light stormed her eyes. When they adjusted, she glanced out, and smiled.

White covered everything. It lay in enormous piles, some thinly precarious. The sun shone pink and gold triumphant. Ethereal it made the snow glitter, so daintily balanced each snowflake one upon the other.

The air, cold, sharp, threw itself at her nose, and she grinned at the invitation.


Still haven’t had our first snow of the year. But it will come soon, I’m sure.