Shivering in a sudden ague, he paced slowly as he watched the first frosts set their marks on the cheek of the forest trees, atop the gambrel roof, then down the rough pavement.
He loathes winter. A time when the white plague of coldness would make a massacre of all nature’s glory and turn the trees to naked frames, bleach the bony bare cadaver until the snow covered things up, and remind him how he lost the apple of his eyes.
“Eight years, my love. I still remember the day when you looked me in the eye and I’d feel the warmth that flowers must have felt when they bloom through the snow, under the first rays of the sun. Every single day is winter to me—cold and dead. I miss the sunrays. I miss you.”
He left this merry place of people and balloons and hurried to the graveyard. With heart in despair, he plunged into agony as he withered in the cold white snow before her tombstone.
Better late than never! 😛