He is frost on a still winter morning. A seeping cold that sinks into bones and chills for hours.
He is the deep of winter: gloomy, beautiful, numbing. He freezes, and cannot be kept at bay.
He is dangerous ice, thundering avalanches, and white-out blizzards. He is a force unleashed, just when I think I am used to the cold. Year after year, his winter creeps and engulfs.
It cannot be shaken.
But he is also warm Christmas lights against a white blanketed void.
He is the awe of plump snowflakes whirling to-and-fro. He is the glistening sparkle of moonlight on crisp white plains, untouched.
He is the wonder of first snowfall, knowing there will be many more to come. He is cold but stunning.
Even though winter frosts may burn, there is a reason I will always love winter best.