Iced

A beautiful snow takes the land outside the window. It lands ever so delicately on the branches, being careful as to not wake the trees. Each snowflake dances with the wind creating a beautiful duet. At least until the breeze becomes bored and drops the flake into a pile of itself. The snowfall quickens, prints now presenting themselves. Alongside them a mysterious track. How odd, for neither where there before. The snow, now fed up with the winds carelessness, has no regard for the sleeping trees. The trees shake and scream with the wind, as they are torn limb by limb. Their bark faces contorting with pain, an entire forest being cut down by tiny white daggers. But the tracks press on, melting the snow into a deep red rum.

Alright so I have to write about what I learned in writing this. I learned how to utilize imagery