So This Is Winter
So this is Winter
The winter day, as if to mourn the death of summer, was gray and sullen. The trees, once happy in their multicolored autumn coats, stood void against the pale sky, and the last flowers of summer hung their heads in resignation, the frost haven stole their wills to live. Brown, brittle grass, that cracked and crunched with every step, replaced the green carpets of grass that lead to every house. Everything was so dull, so lifeless; no souls ventured beyond the warm security of their homes; no creature stirred in the cold, vacant streets. Then quietly, almost unnoticeably, snowflakes, large and fluffy like, began falling, transforming the bleak and dreary landscape and the mood. As the snowfall intensified, the once brown landscape became covered in a thick blanket of pure white snow. Like a delicate smooth fabric, it draped the ugly angular limbs of the trees, converting them into a rather pretty sight. Only the stately pine tree had resisted the change in seasons. Standing tall and erect, its sturdy branches bristled with bundles of stiff needles, each covered in snowy white, until, at the peak a single green branch pointed upward, layered with
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