with the winter in full swing for all good folk of the northern hemisphere, it's only natural for thoughts to turn toward snow, that light fluff from the heavens that turns the world into a thomas kinkade painting overnight without warning. the young and young-at-heart love it, commuters and the heat miser hate it, and around the holidays, everyone starts to dream about it.

i often wonder after the products of those dreams, about the assortment of dreamers who all wistfully imagine the same concept in a disparate variety of ways. what if all of that creative residue was collected, manifested somehow into a personified form, a snow spirit of sorts? what would she be like?

an arctic fox, perhaps? soft and fuzzy as a powdery drift, sharp and lean as an icy crag, she is content to lay about like a frosty blanket until a careless word brings her down upon you with the unstoppable force of an avalanche.

she is the frigid, shivering essence of cold, the howling wind lashing through the door jamb, the knife-edged sleet that tears bare skin to ribbons. she is terrible.

but when the frightful weather outside abates, and the arcadian moon emerges to kiss her peaceful, sparkling curves with its pale lips, it's hard for me to think of her as anything less than wonderful. :]