It's cold! Winter has made a grand entrance and she is standing in the sky fussing about herself. She throws her head back and sighs with all of the indignation one would expect from a woman who has not been taken out in nine months. She tosses her silver tresses to and fro and streaks the sky with mysterious glints of white. Father Day and Mother Night Illuminate them in vibrant reds as they dance the dusk. Meanwhile Winter's footmen begin to prepare the petals of the snow-flowers which grow about her when she sleeps, that they may be thrown before her feet as she walks.
In the lower spheres, hats and gloves polka dot the sidewalks. Cities fill with bundled people bustling quickly from building to building. Gone are the days of skin-bare boys and girls playing on the piers. We have moved inside for spiced apple cider and sweet breads. We harvest the stores and prepare for eminent snow fall.
Lady Winter laughs sweetly to see us shiver.
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