048: Still Asleep

We thought spring would come, but there is only snow. It falls in great flakes, like down slowly emptied out of hundred and thousands of pillows. It lands softly on the grass. The pavement. The branches. On coats. Hats. Gloves. It dances under streetlights, and everything is painted white again. There is no horizon anymore. No sky. It is all hidden in white, and only if we look very carefully, peering from the corner of our eye, can we glimpse a point of brighter white that promises that there is a sun out there. It is just still sleeping.

Written by: Katrine H.