Winter In the Meadow

She floated down into the meadow quietly, silencing the air, by stilling it. The surrounding oak trees smiled, recognizing her power, not fully understanding her majesty, but appreciating it and loving her capableness. As she twirled her skirt, which barely touched the ground, the earth began changing from brown to the most marvelous white. Winter threw her hands in the air, sending icy fluffs of cotton into the atmosphere. They floated down softly and quietly at first, but as they fell, they got bigger, and wetter, and they were no longer dainty. When winter was finished, the landscape had magically transformed from a dried dead-looking thing to a gorgeous, alive blanket of pure white beauty, that seemed to be twinkling with diamond crystals. She smiled. It was time for her nap. She laid down on the meadow, so gently she did not put a dent in the snow, instead, she waited, for the first footsteps which would not come until morning.