Whistling winds. Silent snow. Branches breaking. A moment ago I was smothered with heavy blankets, white noise in the background, in the near blackness of my room. Now I am stood. It is desolate. Branches break, snap, pierce through my ears, the small sticks have found their way in, cramming themselves within my ears, my mouth, I cannot talk, I cannot see - the sticks have pierced my eyes.

​

I stand, shaken. The soft, silent snow, such a pretty comfort. The cold winds silky ribbons across my skin, it tingles and giggles, it's seductive in its ways. I walk, I trudge, I swim, I crawl.

 

The snow comes up to my knees, I force my way through the

thickness. I walk for 10 minutes. I swim the next mile. I tiptoe the following kilometre. I'm on my hands and knees for a yard.

 

I'm in a clearing. Perhaps a forest. Maybe a lie. The trees are still shattering, they fall apart with the frost. The frozen has soothed my ears, no piercing sounds are near. Frost covers me, and I delight in every inch - my hair is frozen and I cannot blink. Ice covers me - I lay within the clouds, melting to the hard, solid ground. I cannot hear. I cannot see. What a wonderful winter this has turned out to be.

 

As I lay freezing my bones. I now know I am finally home.

 

Whistling winds. Silent snow. Branches breaking. I stop for a second. Then I go.