It was so dark. That was her first thought. So dark she could barely see the street lamp illuminate her front yard. Mists of white dust swirled past her window frosting it with ice. Just a crack, she opened the window and a gust of wind raced in to fill every nook and cranny of her bedroom.
The frigid air filled her lungs with ice. Swirling around her soul with a sense of comfort, she took another step to the window. Holding her sweater more tightly, she took a better look as her eyes adjusted to the black mist. The song of winter was loud in her ears, making it impossible to hear anything else.
A loud crack echoed, followed by an even darker mist of cold snow surging into the house. Leaning further out the window, she saw the large mass that had hit the ground. The tree branches broken, scattered about the yard, as if lost reminisces of a bloody battle. What was left of the leaves was being carried away with the howl of the storm.
She pulled back in the house, her dark brown hair swirling around her like the leaves in the wind. She listened quietly for a sound of breathing from the next room to insure her escape. Slowly she pulled on her wool socks over her pants, and slipped on her snow boots. Her mittens were found hiding at the bottom of her draw, as if to say they were not ready for this cold, long winter to begin. Silent was the struggle, her scarf and hat appeared buried with her winter coat – not ready to face this next battle.
She opened her door, listening again for that reassuring noise. As quietly as possible, she crept to the front door and slipped out as without a sound.
“Ar deireadh,” she whispered into the wind.
She made her way across the path, towards the battlefield. Gently, she walked carefully to avoid the black ice that had formed on the walkway. This was what she had been waiting for, she knew it. The black mist slowly pulled her further and further away, the cold wind warming her soul.
Dancing to the music of the wind, she turned about and started running, laughing with joy. The snow, singing louder now, danced with her. Her long brown hair pulling free, whipped about her face. Her dark, brown eyes pierced the horizon, taking in every site.
The wind died down, the snow became slower and slower, less and less around her. She paused, looking at the storm that caused her pure joy, was now slipping away. This was a part of her, she knew. This was who she was. The first snowfall was like taking her first breath, allowing her to breath the first time all year. She smiled at the sun began peeking over the trees.
She closed her eyes, dreaming of the perfect snow, the snow with no imperfections of dancing feet, joyful jumping and running around the yard. She pictured the slow snowfall through the rising sun, the creek of the trees in the wind, the footsteps washed away as if she was never there. She stopped at the front door, turned around and glanced at the now pristine front yard, as if she had never been.
She slipped inside, and closed her bedroom door, wondering if her first snow dance had really happened. Closing her eyes, she savored the smell of snow that surround her. With a start, she heard the song of winter fill her room and opened her eyes. The window, still opened, showed her that she had not dreamt her magical experience.
Leaning out the window, she smiled as the snow rushed past her, welcoming winter.