Fresh from the dryer The snow falls in white sheets, fresh from the dryer.My cocoon of warmth is broken by the jolt of consciousness. Suddenly I’m cold, but it still feels good. I walk toward frosted glass, a window showing nothing, white light just managing to break through. Later, outside, snow falls gently from the clouds above, cold fire burning against my skin. The gentle touch that also stings. Inside a fire blazes to life, the heater on full blast, too, warmth satisfying the frozen bones. All is warm. Then the day is done, so short. All that is left of the storm is the white layer, left behind. The clouds have moved; the sky is clear. The yellow moon, risen from its daylight sleep, brings with it, the eerie silence of night. Article provided by View more articles | Information provided by collegeanduniversity.net |
