Blackness.
Ever growing blackness barely fading at it's ends.
Blackness like an endless tunnel of velvet.
A mournful wind lures me from my warm cocoon.
Everything is clearer here,
Sharper here,
Colder here.
Moonlight glows on the fallen snow.
Feathery snowflakes brush cheeks.
Burn as they melt on the tip of a tongue.
The howling wind rises,
Stings,
Whistles through leafless fingers of branches.
Tears stand in the eyes.
Icicles gleam,
Frozen in their dissent.
The wind caresses,
Loosens.
Some Fall, the sound like tiny bells.
The glistening pieces Pearce my soul like a million shimmering shards of glass.
When it is morning, the sun will Pearce the velvet black with its bright rays.
And the snow will blind the world with its purity.
