Clean Snow

A sparkling blanket of snow. Covering a grey landscape. Tiny, gentle hollows. Footprints.
The wind is cold. Clean, clear and shimmering. It spreads an invisible play of colours of scents, memories, pictures, dreams. Future.
The tiny footprints, hard to discover in all that whiteness. The whiteness witch isn't white, but also blue, yellow, grey....
The heating sun melts the snow on one vulnerable stone. The melted snow starts to slowly run down the surface, as cold shivers. Drip, drop, drip, drop.
If you follow the invisible footprints with your eyes, you will find a dark figure where they end. The figure stands all still, thoughtfull. Like it would matter what way it would now choose, somewhere in all the whiteness. The whiteness witch is also blue, yellow, grey...
But the figure doesn't choose any way at all. Instead it falls down into a dark heap. But that's maybe also a way to choose?
An insignificant heap, in the end of invisible footprints, surrounded by sparkling snow. Fanned by a clean, clear, shimmering breeze.
Then the sun turns its' sparks towards the spot. They seem to be gathered at the heap. And, almost physically, they draw the figure up.
The footprints become more and more. If you where close enough you would have heard a crunchy sound when they where made. But you aren't. Instead, you just suspect a straight line, a tint, in all the whiteness. In the sparkling snow, witch covers a grey landscape. And above: a colourful wind. Scents, memories, pictures, dreams... Future?