He is frost on a still winter morning.
He is 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 and thundering avalanches and white out blizzards. He destroys unexpectedly, a force unleashed just when I believe I'm used to the cold.
He cannot be shaken.
Year after year, his winter engulfs. But he is also the contrast of warm Christmas lights against a white blanketed void. He is the awe of plump snowflakes fluttering: the inside of a snow globe.
He's the glisten of moonlight on crisp white plains.
He's the wonder of first snowfall, knowing that there will be many more to come. He is cold, but stunning. Even though winter frosts burn, there are reasons I will always love winter best.