White. Pure. Fresh.
She can see just a glimpse out of her window. A peak at the snow laden branches bending and drooping. Succumbing to the weight of the snow pressing on them. How funny it is that people look at this and see beauty she scoffs, falling back into bed. Beauty, harrumph.
No longer does she see the snow glowing through the trees or the light sparkling across the it like diamonds. No snow makes her feel likes those branches. Weighed down and heavy. It does nothing but bring her back to the day when her world swirled and crumbled around her, like the snow in a snow globe. Only when her snow settled her quaint little life wasn’t still standing gleaming at the bottom, glistening under the sparkle of fresh snow. No her life was a pile of broken branches, weighted down to their demise by the something that was supposed to be beautiful and pure.
We're taking 5 minutes to reveal in the creativity and inspiration of the season, join us? 'Twas the Write Before Christmas (but it could also be the Photo, the Poem, The Recipe, the....)