The heavens salted snowflakes down to mingle together, a wet reunion on the earth. The trees were thickened by ice and lush with leaves of soft white snow. The wind sped around these trees, whistling its melancholic songs loud and proud for no one to hear. The wind had a voice, sharp and sweet, and a powerful stamina to run rampant around the endless expanse, never stopping to catch its breath.
The snow was mellow and meek, a delicate entity that never failed to get swept off its feet by the wind’s free spirit. The wind would take the snow on adventures up and down the mountain peaks. Hand in hand they explored the mountains’ crannies and crevices, howling with laughter all the way. Once they reached the top, the wind and snow, tight in each other’s embrace, fell down from the mountain peaks. The wind carried the snow west and the snow carried the wind south until they hit the ground in a wet heap. There they parted.
Icicles adorned the caves and trees, standing strong but sad and sometimes producing tears to fall down and onto the snow. The cold tears dissolved the snowflakes beneath it. Sometimes the sharp wind, heavy with snow, would shatter the ice, broken and scattered. The ice was more resilient than the icicles. It protected the water and coated the trees, a solitary soul camouflaged into its surroundings. It was seldom acknowledged, or so it thought.
From above, the solid, condescending mountains, dressed in their best white cloaks, looked down upon the beings that roamed their skin. They watched unmoving, unspeaking, only contemplating. Their silent stare lay unceasingly on the world around them.
Freya observed all of the scenery, as it truly was, and she watched them hoping to someday acquaint herself with them. But for today, she just watched them as she sat backward on the cart wagon with her legs dangling off the back. Her head spun in all directions, trying to take everything in, but soon her dad returned to drive the cart wagon on its way, and the world began to run away from her.
“Hyeah!” her dad urged the horses.
As the horses picked up their speed, the world around her fled faster. The mountains began to flatten and the snow began to disappear.
“Didn’t you find the area quite interesting, Ma?” Freya asked her mother.
“Snow is snow, you know. It can be nice but it can also be inconvenient,” her mother agreed.
She told Freya that she had seen snow and mountains enough times that she didn’t give it much thought, anymore.
Freya loved her mother, but she couldn’t help rolling her eyes. She could easily tell her mother didn’t find it half as captivating as she did, and that her mother wouldn’t understand her own view even if she explained it, but she had gotten used to people not seeing the world the way she did. People could be so literal.
Freya sighed and lay on her back, looking up. That familiar sky, she felt like it understood her. After all, it watched her whole life beneath it. It knew everything about her and it was always there. The sky felt things deeply like her, too, but more on an emotional level. It cried, from sprinkles to floods. It got angry, as little as darkening during the day or as much as roaring and flashing its eyes during storms. It got shy and hid behind benign clouds. It got happy, beaming and illuminated. All these emotions were projected onto those who dwelled beneath it, and today, just like the sky, Freya was content. The sky was a clear solid blue, and Freya’s eyes felt refreshed to meet its gaze. She felt her mother’s cold hands brush her hair.
“I think we are almost home, dear,” her mother told her, pointing towards the town they were nearing.
Freya got off her back to look. The white snow had now completely disappeared and been replaced by bright green fields and colorful housing. Among them, she saw the familiar sight of the Meeting House. Its golden-bronze bell rung, gonging suddenly and strongly. The birds fled, startled by the bell’s resonating song. They formed a black consuming halo in the sky and cawed in fear before regaining their senses and settling down again. The Bell had ceased its ringing, but its reverb was still felt in Freya’s head, like a ball bouncing in slow motion around her brain. Once the ball lost its bounce, she noticed that they had entered into town. She could almost see her house. The bright blue sky was turning darker by the minute. The sun was setting, off to its home behind the horizon, to come back tomorrow. To sleep it went and so must she soon.
Sleep, Freya thought. Her eyelids drooped, as the heaviness spread across her body and soul. The cold must have caught up to her. After a full day of meeting new places far from her town, she was ready to be consumed by the covers of her bed and fall into her dreams where she could meet them all again. The chilly wind tickled her skin and she could only imagine how great it would feel to be hugged by the heat of the hearth, tucked away from the world. She nuzzled into her mother’s arm.
Her mother spoke to her. “Stay awake, Freya. We’re almost home.”