The first snowflake of winter fell onto her hair, but she’d never be any the wiser.
Her shoulders hunched against the bitter chill, she ventures into unknown territory. She would have to leave immediately if her return were possible, retracing her dark footprints lying beneath the perfect white blanket, which act merely to embellish the horrors of reality. As her breath condenses before her eyes, she ponders upon the sanctity of snow, realising once again that everything that has once been pure must sooner or later be tainted.
C’est la vie she sighs, ambling across the meadow, hands tucked within the confines of her pockets. Like everyone else on wintry days, she seeks warmth and safety, yet remains damp and cold. But remaining inside is not an option: the crunch beneath her feet is undeniably satisfying, so meandering walks are a must.
She stops. Sits. Looks around at the surrounding landscape. Notes the noises of nearby cawing birds. Watches as a rabbit rushes past to its burrow, instinctively knowing the way despite the clean, crisp air.
Legs pulled close to her heart, she whispers out loud, breaking the cloud of thoughts which chase each other in her mind. ‘C’est la vie.’