A Dream of Winter

From the moment the first snowfall melted on my skin, I could hear winter's overture ringing in my head. Snowflake follows snowflake, a stiff north wind turns the fragile waltz into a frantic tango. Whether roof tile or pine tree, all become equal under a blanket of pure white.
The dance continues until the moon falls into the horizon and the hearth fire is naught but embers. That night, I dream of winter.