I wrote this in December in a challenge to stretch myself as a writer. I like this piece becuase it doesn't follow my usual cadenced conversational style. I like the pace set by the first few lines and how they force you to slow down to digest it.
As usual, feedback is always welcome
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fresh.
Freshly fallen.
Freshly fallen snow.
It's like the majesty of heaven laid out before us.
A carpet of whiteness so pure as if to declare the coming of royalty.
But not the vain kings & queens of ages past, ones who clothed themselves in the richness of burgandy and velvet.
No, this is the Prince of Love, and so, he brings the light of life.
So brightly blinding the world it covers seems somehow dim and drab by comparison.
Freshly fallen snow.
Like angels on high they fill the sky.
Slowly they dance through the black night air with the grace and elegance of little ballarinas.
Each flake a masterpiece of beauty.
Each flake a different story.
Each flake.
Each flake falls.
Each flake falls to the ground.
The stories build upon each other into epic adventures of sledding down hills and hot chocolate with marshamallows.
The beauty grows until it seems the angels are making themselves in the snow.
Each flake falls to the ground perfectly like each stroke of a master artisans brush across canvas.
All this, in each flake of freshly fallen snow.
