Picture Perfect.

It was winter and the winds sang, whistled through shivering trees. Snow danced with the breeze, light and powdery, bright and sweet, along the ground, giggling and hiccuping with joy into the whitened field beyond. Late squirrels, brown and cold, latched onto trees with round stuffed mouths, ran up to their homes and houses and settled down to rest. 

Cold nips at fingers feet, toes nose, freezes my face makes me squint to see winter's beauty. The sky is grey the trees are stark and barren, the ground is pure and ethereal, shining like diamond dust in faint sunlight and geese honk, a desolate sound that makes everything perfect. 

The stream is dead by my side, frozen solid through and through, paralyzed and vulnerable I take my heavy boot and slam it down, feel the ice crack! beneath my weighty feet I pick it up with wooly gloves and marvel at the shape, the intricacies. Air bubbles and holes, spiderweb cracks spanning the entire surface, so clear that when I look through it I can see every fallen twig every green pine every flake of snow, and when I look at it the world distorts so pretty so perfect when I put the ice down the world seems so plain. So 2-D. 

So simple so boring it hurts my heart to think about. Makes my chest ache with want. I wish the world were better. I wish the world stayed pretty and frozen, unmoving unchanging, numb to the pain of change I wish the world could be sweet and snowy forever, silent. Wasn't silence sweet? It swells to tremendous heights, filling up empty spaces and forgotten corners. Silence is the noise of perfection.                     

My breath comes out like dragon smoke in front of me. My eyelids flutter as flurries of snow brush against them. The trees rustle, and somewhere in the distance the geese honk.

Picture perfect. If I close my eyes, I can stretch now into forever.