Winter’s Bloom

The wind bit sharply, slicing through layers of wool and fleece. The world, muted under the weight of winter snow, the kind that clung to summer trees, grasped onto leftovers of the feeble magnolias. None displayed their June beauty, withering away into shades of brown. 

She exhaled, releasing a misty breath. It quickly dissipated, swirling into the frigid December air. Shifting her gaze away from the withered petals, she traced uneven paths through the frost, boots dragging against the brittle crust. The distant horizon flickered, uncertain and hazy, signaling a path beckoning to be followed. 

Her gaze shifted, drawn to a faint blush nestled within the monotony. She made out the faint outline of a magnolia bud, fragile yet defiant, clinging to the brittle winter branches and melting the white veil little by little. The surrounding snow loosened, softening its edges and pulling her closer. 

For a moment, the cold didn’t matter. The winter felt lighter, softer, as if it, too, had been waiting for this small, unexpected joy.