On the first of December the first snow of the season fell. It coated the street lights so thickly, we could hardly tell what colour they were when lit up.
We went outside to walk in the storm with umbrellas, as if there were nothing more fun to do. As we walked, the lights turned colours regularly, oblivious to the new cotton blanket of white embalming them.
Instead of wet drips of rain on our umbrellas, there were soft clumps of cottony snow accumulating there. We were entranced with the new whiteness of our world of snow-bound storming.
As we walked forward into the scrunchy whiteness below our feet, we left behind frozen footprints tracking backwards to the beginning of our sojourn.
Writing by Regina Stemberger