Winter seems like an endless calm.

When the cold surrounds us,

and the darkness makes the streets disappear,

the world’s turning seems to slow down.

You can see footprints start and footprints

stop,

leading somewhere,

going nowhere.

I hastily picked my feet up out of the snow to uncover a pair of warm brown boots that had been hidden under layers of white fluff just moments ago. The cold wind pierces my bare cheeks as I charge forward, breathing heavily to reveal a cloud of warm carbon dioxide.

The fire hisses, flickering,

as it lay encaged by a thick black sheath of iron.

Cloth stockings droop down− bare and bereaved.

Pure, white snow is drifting

down from the blank upper atmosphere.

The gray and white dog routinely scampers