The Ravishing

A chill wind bites coyly at exposed necks, not yet draped in tourniquets of wool. A wrapping of white, buries ribbons of asphalt. The ways fills with metallic horsepower. Goblets of slush like spittle fall, splat, upon once virginal snowfields. The rape of Winter had begun. Rutting like rabid beasts in heat, the roadways lay revealed before the power of the storm. Cumulous clouds belch from grills of chrome. As Winter like the Sabine Women, weapon in hand, pummels the oncoming horde with icicles. Power falls from an angry, cloud-filled, sky weighty and white, Winter defends herself. The surge of day brings forth an endless tide of travelers; trampling her breast, ravaging, the once pristine vista; shredding the thin veil of purity, only the Goddess brings; laying waste, in mounds of mud like filth, The Mother. She curls inward. Her indrawn breath freezes gears grinding, screeching, shrieking the earth succumbs. In snow like ash she lays vanquished.