It’s dark and cold. I can see my breath as I walk. The snow is crunching under my boots. The snow always makes the world softer, quieter. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky start to blush. There’s that moment, just before the sun peeks over the horizon, that it feels like the world is holding it’s breath. There are big fluffy clouds, their edges turning pink and orange as the sun rises. The air is still, not even a breeze. All I can hear is the sound of my steps, my breath and the birds starting to sing to the sun. I walk among the trees, some evergreen and some stripped naked for the winter. The cold bites at my exposed flesh but it reminds me that I’m alive.

This is what comes to mind when asked to describe weather that matches my grief.

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