The first snowflakes dance to the rhythm of the wind, and I am lost in the gray sky above me. The cold ground does not drink the fluid the snow provides; instead it allows each snowflake to land softly, building a white landscape, covering the ugliness of the naked ground with new beauty. Even the sun, with all its power, cannot penetrate the layers of gray that freakishly mutilate themselves in an icy falling form. The wind and trees war against one another, each one raging against the change in the season, each plant and grounded creature struggling for the life within, pushing against the inevitable until, at last, the earth is reborn.

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