January isn't December. And the place of our sun isn't the difference. Sheer kinetic energy seems to fall down in people's minds, just as the temperature does when the nights sleep deeper. The frosty passion expressed weeks ago slides into the tundra of discontent and thick wooden doors creek shut when December withdrawal sets in with snowy tempests whistling through the old-growth oaks and silver maples. But those winds soon stop blowing and I open my door to the sound of absolute nothing.
After slumber occupies my family's night, I awake to an overcast late morning. I stumble past the foggy windows and the pure whiteness coupled with the rays of light sneaking through the clouds cause my half-open and vulnerable eyes to cringe. While my backyard bequeaths me with its new glory, I adjust to truly view the architecture of the snow upon frozen tree branches and houses with steady smoke billowing from their brick chimneys. Content with my keen observations, my thoughts diverge to my sister, sleeping with no intent in getting up any time soon. Knowing this, I still feel she should join me in the snow. So I loudly run to her room and stand next to the side of the bed she is on.
No use, calling her name and tapping her shoulder in swift succession causes her to only stir. I resolve to search for another to plow through the now still and pristine neighborhood because suddenly, this snowfall transforms into an undiscovered wonderland, packed with undiscovered possibilities. Before, fields of sparse grass were simply fields, jungle-gyms were attractions already visited. But now, now I imagine the fields as enormous blue glaciers I can traverse to reach the base of Vinson Massif in Antarctica or Aconcagua in the Andes. The jungle-gym now served as a training camp for our daring pursuits to scale its slippery structure and fall carelessly down into the snow if we had the guts.