Wake up to a white world beckoning throwing out its muffled light. Stumble along breathe iced puffs of cold see the sentinel trees wearing rough coats etched in silver. Hear the land hushed even the birds pausing in their normal joyous carolling to watch the immense crisp muted majesty that is the first snowfall. Hear boots squeaking through motionless carpeted streets listen to the shouts of children playing echo through the nipping cold. - Cara Gordon
