Ah. How calming.
The cool, winter night.
Perched upon the cusp between refreshing and freezing.
Naked trees dance happily in the swirling winds.
Black branches hardly stand out against an equally black sky,
which is only broken by small specks of light.
Looming overhead is the deceptively thin crescent moon,
glaring down at me like a crooked smile.
I take a deep breath and feel the chill of pure ice go down my throat.
My lungs grow cold, my heart beats faster, and I feel more alive.
My breath is like the smoke of a dragon,
barely visible by the dim illumination of nighttime candles in the sky.

Alongside the scent of ice drifts something more robust.
If the arctic atmosphere was a virginal, blank canvas,
then there was a thick, grey paint spread loosely across the surface,
corrupting the piece, but at the same time making it much more interesting.

Off in the distance, there is a light like the rising sun.
An orange glow on the horizon, flecked with red and yellow.
However, the light seems unnatural. Out of place.
And the sun's return is a long time coming.
A grey, smoky aroma fills the air and puts all the critters on edge,
fearful that the fire-like light might fall upon them soon.
Are those screams I hear? Or just the animals becoming restless?
Were those sirens? Or just peaceful silence ringing in my ears?

Leaves crunch beneath my feet like dry, fragile bones.
The chilling wind drags a gentle hand across my face, welcoming.
A tiny box of matches rattles in my jacket pocket
as I walk slowly down the tranquil, sleeping street
grinning up at the curved, slender moon.
This year's winter will be an entertaining one.