The gutteral moan of the wind cut through the snow covered trees and scrapped it’s icy tendrils across the splintered and dried wood of the old cabin. It stuck it’s claws in deep and threatened to rip the boards from their nails.
“the death throes are always so difficult to endure,” the old man thought as he watched the winter storm out his window.
He had watched her grow. He held her when she had first begun, those first days of spring. He had watched her as she learned to move, to crawl among the melting snow dripping from the new growth. He had watched her struggle as she learned her strength. She had thrown such wild tempers when she was young, but as summer came, she grew and matured. She warmed with blush as she learned how to love. She embraced, she danced, she flourished. She grew older. With the turning of the seasons, she aged gracefully. She marveled at the the wonder around her. She tousled the trees and watched them drop their leaves. But as the last leaves fell, she felt the pangs of her end. She grew cold and distant. She no longer wanted to play. She grew bitter and fierce. She turned her back on those that had loved her. She cried in the night. Her tears formed ice across the land that she had once loved. The trees trembled in fear of her. The old man touched the window, he wished to reach her one last time.
He put on his heavy coat and boots, he grabbed his thick wool hat and pulled it down over his ears. With determination, the old man stomped in the deep snow out to the middle of the dark meadow. There he took off his hat and put his face into the harsh wind. He felt the sting of her ice but held strong. Next he took off his heavy coat, he took in a deep breath and braced for her next attack. The wind curled around and screeched with the wail of a banshee, but still the man held strong. She clawed at his face, she pelted his body with ice and cold, still the man held strong. She weakened. She felt his strength and calmed in his open bare arms and sobbed. He felt the snow and ice and whispered to the wind “no one should have to die alone.” She swirled the flakes around him and built him a blanket of white sparkle. As the first rays of morning light broke over the mountain, she felt the last of her strength fall away and lay her head on top of the silent old man wrapped in the snow.
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