Silence. The noiseless gathering called for many, gracefully falling to the surface. Silent drops sat delicately on the frosty flesh, increasing in size. White skin laid thick and uniform, cracking and compressing with every footstep. The dry, barren land made into Nature’s snowy slave. The naked oaks, once an array of color and pigment, now shiver in icy fury. Proud and wholesome they once were, now bearing the heavy load of winter. All activity remained anonymous, hidden beneath the snowy sediment. The numbing winter froze all that lay unprotected, and seemingly froze time itself. A still frame. A ubiquitous shadow of its long deceased, balmy brother.

Light. Illumination. Narrow streaks of light begged to be seen, to be recognized. Colors that are seen, that could rarely be seen shout, and scream, and beckon for undying attention. Evergreen highlighted by luscious crimson, rustic amber planted into a daring aqua. The synthetic beauty did not complement its bucolic background, yet the arrangement was praised by even the most travelled folk. Clusters of voices rung proudly in the air in a collision of euphony. Silence broken with tumultuous ease. A message was to be heard, a change was to be sung. Men that had seen many things stared in awe; the most unimpressed were left with an expression of pure bliss, and pure shock. Such was the power of Christmas day, trumping even the most sinister of seasons. The acrimonious landscape morphed into a setting of warmth and jovial excitement.