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Into the ice kissed air came wintry-feathers of pure white, a great snowfall that soon gave-way to a blizzard, as if a sky-dam had burst.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2021.
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As if the evergreens had paused time in the moment of a camera flash, the blizzard was a total white-out.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2021.
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From grey clouds, bold and strong, comes wintry confetti. The blizzard conjuring our forest to a wonder-dream in but a camera-flash.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2021.
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Come blizzard of frozen dreams; from your ice-petals that blossomed in such coldness, my warm heart will conjure a soul-quenching spring.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2021.
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In the blizzard we head toward the sun, for it is the only way to find true direction.

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In the array of frozen blooms, where the air kisses the lungs so cooly, the blizzard tips the balance of emotion from adventure to caution.

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In a moment the world became snow-globe, one of those Christmas time ornaments children love to shake up and watch the flakes swirl in unseen currents. We watched the blizzard from the safety of the lodge for a moment, but we knew we should use those moments to prepare to go out there. The youth team was out there struggling to get home and what could we do but go help?

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The blizzard came with nature's determination, that primal force that conquers until its energy is released. From evergreen forest to an almost white-out, so we set our sights on home, though more by the GPS than our eyes.

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The blizzard is more flakes than it would ever make sense to count, yet each makes its own daring path to the white dunes they build taller. One flake in the sky would be madness, yet this horizon filled with them is the greatest of sanity, our winter playground growing with each new addition.

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The snow became so thick that the trees appeared as the confetti, as if they were the flakes that danced. Everywhere there was light, every crystal magnifying the rays from above, the mountain as brilliant as any camera flash.

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Milo walks backwards into the blizzard, turning once in a while to check his path. He feels the half-ice pellets bounce from his winter coat and hat. He hears the song of old man winter, his calling for Earth to pause, to dream of warmth and feel the yearning for blossoms and new foliage. He sees his footprints form, as if he were going the other way and smirks, for regardless of the appearance, he's going home to Sam.