every winter here carries a distinct personality, of this i am certain. if the cold does not kill with its prolonged intensity then the snow will cover the earth more and more as the air flirts with the freezing point. the desire for warmth is dampened by endless billows of white burying all things, the yearning for a clear, sunny day is tainted by a biting frost so fierce that even the beasts tremble. there is no such thing as a nice winter's day, only days which are less painful than others to endure. no avenue for change exists except by way of destruction or death. an honest time in which a man is confronted with his mortality every waking moment and can scarcely escape it even in his troubled, chilled sleep
this winter being warmer than the last has brought with it plenty of snow, so much that it seemed wholly impossible by the middle of april to imagine a world of bare earth and sprouting plants. the scant few paths we maintain through the whole winter were suspended four feet from the earth. only an idiot would walk off these paths without snow shoes
suddenly as if by some divine mercy there was a week of sunny days in the mid seventies fahrenheit. all snow save the tallest piles quickly dissolved back into the moist ground, the white scourge's five month domination of the whole earth carelessly shaken off like water from a dog's back. the grass in some places woke from a long slumber and some ambitious plants began to sprout amidst the frenzied flooding. animals were lively and the birds feverishly sang. frogs serenaded the coming of night as the sun departed along the western horizon
the sky never appeared today. all that can be seen is the brown of bark, the green needles of conifers, and endless white. two feet of snow buried all those things that only one day prior had been raising exaltations in the wake of its departure. the wind is laughing mercilessly. the bitter chill kisses all living. the white blur defiantly obscures the beauty of the heavens and presses in on all sides as if to suffocate what brief sparks of hope may ignite into a greater fire of ambition before there is scarcely a chance
winter never ends, it only waits.
