Silence presses on my ears,
As deep as if I were under water.
Fog looms in front of me,
Not menacing, but comforting - a blanket of safety.
Snow coats the ground, heaping in piles, alighting on trees.
Not a creature stirs, save the three horses standing near,
Their breath leaving their warm bodies in great gusts of steam.

I breathe in the bitter cold, relishing as it pierces my nostrils.
Ice crystals swirl in the air, glimmering in the dim light of the partially obscured moon.
Trees embrace the frost clinging to their bare branches, as a child clutches its mother.
But the the air is not so forgiving.
A gust of sharp wind brushes through the world, shaking the snow from its place of safety.

A single snowflake, as unique as they are known for, comes to rest on my face,
Hardly colder than the surrounding air.
Nevertheless, it pierces my skin like a needle,
Its touch, electrifying, magnificent.
It melts upon contact, rolling down my cheek, tracing its curves as though to remember.

The temperature is bitingly, piercingly cold.
The frigid air swirling around me, carries a hint of magic in it,
As though each atom is made of that which is unknown, feared, revered.
An electric current flows on the wind, riding it like a wave.

The feeling of glorious solitude increases as the fog thickens,
Claustrophobic to some, comforting to others.
The moisture in the air is omnipresent, all around, with no escape.
The world feels deserted, desolate, free.
It seems that nothing is moving, nothing awake, nothing alive.
And yet, nothing could be more beautiful, more freeing, more moving.
The world seems alive like never before. Alive with something close wonder; close to mystery. Almost magic.

My lungs are filled with the beauty of the night.
My eyes yearn for the cold breath of the wind.
My mind is crammed with all the memories I seem to possess - heartbreakingly sad ones, and exhilarating experiences.
My ears strain for the sound of magic.
For magic, I know to have been there.