Winter.

He likes the snow.

The soft, white puffy snowflakes that coat the floor, blanketing all that lives, moves, breathes and stands still, as if covering all sins and corruption, in a beautiful sheet of purity. He likes the icy kiss the snowflakes leave on his cheeks, the way they embrace him, covering his clothes with white specks of frozen water. His boot prints follow him like a trail of breadcrumbs, twisting and linking with other people’s footprints, like a maze of paths, a maze of lives, intertwining in the snow, if never in person.

As he walks, the lampposts shine into the dark night, glowing against the black sky, giving everything a sort of mystical glow. The snow gleams, dancing on the cars, covering the pavements, kissing the windows and breezing through the trees. Feathery light snowflakes fall in the light of the lampposts, falling from the heavens like a blessing, a sign of the holy and pure.

The cold, bitter night does not frighten him; it does not scar and cut him. No, it sooths him and makes him feel calm. Others make not like the snow, but he did. He loved Winter – it’s frosty and festive spirit, the Christmas lights, thick, brightly coloured scarves, coats and pink noses on the train ride to university. It’s a time where though it is freezing; everyone seems closer, warmer somehow. Perhaps, it’s because of Christmas, or the holidays, or the snow and the snowmen, or snowwomen, whatever causes this closeness, seems to make humanity smile, just for a fleeting, beautiful moment. All the greed and corruption is washed away, hidden by the snow.

Even if only for a brief moment, it is remembered and cherished. A lasting, distant memory of the happiness humanity can experience – it’s almost magical, isn’t it?

Christmas and the Winter season, there one moment and gone the next.

But remembered, for good or for bad.

Always.

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