Outside it is a hushed fairy land. The sparkle of white and the softness of drifts add to the impression of magic and innocence.
I know that the wind bites, that the dark tortured reaching of naked limbs of trees stripped bare is closer to the reality of winter than feathery coverlets hiding fairies yet unseen.
Still...
Inside it is warm and soup is on the stove; the air is fragrant with cooking and care. Dogs are curled at my feet, warming my toes. There is work to do, and some time in which to do it. There are new memories of good times shared with those we love, and plans ahead to meet again.
Outside it is clean and pure and there is magic in the air.
The ugliness of dead leaves and old mud has disappeared.
The snow blankets the muck and debris of a dying year. The wind whispers, sleep, sleep and soon all the pain and struggle of the year that is past will fall away, the pain will be but a memory and only the love will remain.
I can almost believe that this magic is possible. Quiet! Don't wake me from my dream.
Outside it is a hushed fairy land.
