After a long day of shoveling snow for a lousy profit, my brother and I began to walk home. The sun had gone and the snow had started to pick up again. I trailed him down the long, narrow street. Aside from the snow crunching under our feet the only other sound was the hoarse screeching of the shovel I drearily dragged. We came to the end of the street and my brother paused to catch his breath. Both of us panted heavily, and finally my brother continued on and I followed. Our house was on the street diagonal to the corner we stood on, so after checking for cars we began to cross.

In the middle of the street he stopped short again and turned around. For a second I thought he was going to speak to me but he didn’t. Instead he just began to look all around.

“This is pretty bizarre,” He puffed, still out of breath. “Just look at it.. just look around”

Following his directions I too began to look around. I noticed how the snow fell heavily. It was as if we were stuck in a whirling blizzard of fog that seemed entranced by us. It circled and imprisoned us and with a voice of chilling wind the storm finally spoke, demanding us to explain our trespassing.

In just a matter of seconds the storm calmed, as if it accepted our presence as mere visitors. Suddenly the street lightened up as the cloak of snow faded. The bulbous orbs of orange light fell down upon us from the street lamps. For a moment I stood there gazing at the snow dancing in the spotlight. I suddenly felt really small.

My brother tapped onto my shoulder and continued crossing the street. I followed and once I got to the curb I peaked over my shoulder, saddened to see just a mundane street lamp.