White, beautiful, powdery death dances, crawls across the black asphalt,
Whispering to me fantasies of white-capped mornings and hot coffee
    while the sun sinks beyond the horizon.
People slow down in their tin-can boxes, afraid of the carnage that can
    be wrought by a single, angelic flake.
If it's cold enough to snow, it must be cold enough to freeze into ice.
Not so!
If it's cold enough to snow, it's cold enough to bundle up and play in it!
Visions of children pressing their warm faces against their windows in anticipation
    of that holiest of days: Snow Day. Homework is forgotten and snowballs cry
    out to be made.
Salt trucks load up, ready to take over the highways and wreak havok on this
    ageless, natural, albino tapestry.
Employees everywhere buzz with two simple words on their lips, "It's snowing!"
I brave this silent chaos, intent on being out of the house, don't fence me in.
But my heart is light and gleeful.
Snow, down here, completes the year.
Summer is gone and Autumn is packing its bags.
Winter takes hold, its rent paid for the season, bringing with it cold wind and, of
    course, ice.
Spring coils back, ready to pounce with the melting sun.
Snow completes the year down here.

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