snow.

Droplets splatter on the glass pane in haphazard swirls of beauty. They confirm what the white flecks are trying to say. Come, come outside for a while and see what we have to offer.

When on ice, you feel both firmly in control and desperately lost at the same time. The skis fly on the ground, and then a second later the ground becomes air. You glide to try to get away from the rush of humanity but all you can do now is be a part of it. The thrill reminds you that you are ethereal- a minute, a moment, a memory. You lap it all up because you know your legs will soon give up on you. They will tire of being a slave to your whims and they will soon dictate your future. And, with that in mind, you cut through the pine trees in an undulating formation. Wind hits your exposed lips and the frost silences everything but your mind. White is all you can see for miles and miles ahead. No conforming, no adapting, no illusions. What you see is what you get. For that run, you know freedom is within reach.

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