The flamboyant pink and orange clouds reflected onto the long snowy oblique road. The clouds, which were of various shapes and sizes were a brilliant, and much preferred, comparison to the elongated leaden trees. And though the trees were, in there own way beautiful, their great weighted branches added a somber demeanor to the whole scene. The crisp air was at a standstill, but if it were to shift amidst the trees one could detect the faint perfume of pine or the more subtle scent of the damp dirt.
Birds flew to and fro, basking in the morning spring air and sun, some diving low over the one thing that disrupted the mountain springtime tranquility, which was the soft gurgle of a brook that flowed nearby, which was clear as glass, and as frigid as the ice that had so recently captured it's unyielding current. A hill nearby only just revealed the worn peak of a black chimney whose rim expelled prosperous amounts of dense warm smoke that would warm a family in the bleak early hours.