On a cold wintry day in the mid of October, you slept down, lazily in the favourite place of the entire home, the tiled platform between the stairs right in front of the cemented partition head that stared at you, your crown of curly hair tingling your nose as it slipped sleepily by the blow of shivering wind which flew down the terrace door that you had the back to.

Your stiff arms and legs didn't dare to move, angry at you for skipping until 50 without break, their elastics all lost. So the persistent hair got their freedom to tingle anything they liked in your face. 

You adjusted your shirt with lazy fingers, which had been peeled back, exposing your pale chubby back by the way you threw yourself on the soft rug you found last month in a dark corner of the forgotten store room, with feather pillows stacked around like the hazy mountains that fortified the soft grassland below them. Your legs throbbed agonizingly by the simple gesture, scowling, making you realize the extra pounds you had gulped on in the last few years. 

You blinked back as small wet balls tapped your skin as you turned a fresh page of the paperback Jane Austen classic, it's rusty smell basking you in calmness. You wiped the drops away, rubbing your hands on the far end corner of the rug making sure it would not disturb you later, and peered at the soft drizzles pattering on the stone-cemented terrace floor. 

A smile crept up your face like a torch on a moonless night, two sapphires shining bright as snowflakes settled on your rosy cheeks, making you giggle. 

Tucking your paperback safely on the small shelf above your head at arm's length, you wobble back up, finally clipping your curls back tired of blowing them away , your rodded legs scarcely coping. 

As you strode to the terrace, the cold grew sharp, piercing even your thick insulating fat, urging the hair on your back to stand up. You embraced the thick shawl around your arms, enjoying it's comfortingly soft self just like you, the icy steps freezing your naked foot. 

You finally stepped on the terrace and was hit by a sudden realization as your heart skipped. Everything was clad in a soft thin layer of white as if they all wore an extra layer of skin, as white as milk. Or perhaps, they all dozed off to sleep, grabbing an eternal blanket of clean sheet, occasionally poking their heads out to be loved by even more blankets showering from above. 

You looked up at the blinding light that steadily dropped tiny fragments of heaven from the sky above, covering your bushy crown. You fluttered your midnight hair, a stark contrast to the sky, with your plump pale fingers making your bushy curls, spin and toss spraying the snowflakes across. 

It felt magical, picked right out of a fairytale movie. It always did. Octobers had that snowy feel, here in the quaint village town near Ottowa. You simply closed your eyes, breathing deep, warm air smoking out of your nose and mouth, carving twisted trails in the fog, like that of the dirty branches of a crooked age-old tree and took all that you could take in.