Air White As Snow

(Image from naturalsciences.org)

The flakes of snow are small but the air is flooded with them, so that, from far away, it appears as pure white fog. Everything is gently painted with white, really a colour of pure light and completion rather than emptiness. I sip tea, wearing a plaid, frilled nightgown with sleeves almost long enough to cover my tiny, white hands. The Snow Queen has come to play.

She is not at all the cruel, sadistic woman whom she shares a name with. Though she is powerful, she is only a little girl like me--"just my size", as Wendy says. Her cold eyes have threads of kindness woven into them, thin but profuse, like snowflakes when examined closely.

Someday I will go home--a place where seeing the Snow Queen during the winter is not such a surprising occurrence.