Flake, followed flake, followed flake of old lace

falling,

falling, splashing, flashing, swirling, gathering in chilly molehills

until undulating into ubiquitous whiteout.

Crystalline white, sparkling and inviting like a cosmic latte

Rosy cheeked children donning hats and scarves and mittens and jackets and wellies…

dragging toboggans behind them up the newly formed hills

that used to be roads and pathways and gardens

while the workers call in with excuses

nursing their hot chocolates and skinned knees.

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