By: Gemma Shay

It's coming. I can feel it in the air, the chill of the frost that will soon cover the rigid soil.

It's coming. I can see the warm fog of my breath that lingers like a dream, but is soon conquered by the arctic cold.

It's coming. I can see the iciness clinging to the crunchy, dying grass like a leech slowly sapping everything that lives.

It's coming. In my mind I can picture the eerie, dreamlike quality of the white silence it brings.

It's coming. I can almost taste the delicious hot chocolate and the puffy marshmallows like icebergs in a boiling sea.

It's coming. I can sense every bit of its approach, The icy, dark, yet somehow strangely wonderful, winter.