Fog drifts through the black toothpick trees outside until
it’s impossible to see where they begin to grow up from the ground and where
they taper off into the sky.
The
marble-colored fog has a slightly blueish hue, a reflection of the brilliant
twilight above.
I inhale deeply and note the scent that comes this kind of night, the sharp metallic smell of ice edged with smoke.
I am glad leave the
porch and return to the sitting room, to curl up in an armchair by the roaring
fire with my book. Through the window, I watch the bitter cold creep into the
woods. I am a soldier armed for battle,
secure in my refuge, anticipating that mystical event that has been rumored to
occur in wars of this nature..
the white magic
-beautiful, intricate, delicate, powerful-
Snow.
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