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Snowy Window This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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Outside, a muted, pink-grey glow rippled across the snow-laced tree branches. The light, reflecting dimly off the snow, struggled to fade into the nightfall. But still, clumps of snow shook free of the clouds and cut across a swirling white sky.

The trees dipped under their handfuls of snow, sagging to graze the ruffles of snow icing the floor. That was all that could be seen through her window. She stood, cheek pressed against its cool pane, breath gliding across the glass to leave its fogged path, and pondered. No, she had no life-changing realizations—instead she savored the moment, pausing and putting her life on hold for a split-second. During that sliver of time, she was just existing, without stress or annoyance; she was a fragile snowflake, trembling through the chilly air, hiding beauty in her miniscule crystals, sighing through the last length of her journey, brushing the ground and, finally, lying in wait to be covered, to be lost. She didn’t know how long she was buried there, didn’t know the misty blue color the nighttime sky took, didn’t know the frigid winds that looped around the hills—all she knew was herself. But for now—for now!—that was enough. It always had been.





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