Twenty Below Zero

Is this a dream? I am standing, unmoved by the soft breeze that flows around my body, enveloping it in a case of luke-warm air. I can feel the frigid air piercing my flushed skin as I watch, hypnotized by the richly fluffed snow gliding smoothly towards the earth below. I stand as still as the icicles clinging onto the bottom of the chilled drainpipe. I start to imagine, just for a second, what it would feel like to drift swiftly from the dreary sky to the bewilderingly effervescent city.

I can see it for an instant; children laughing gaily, constructing smiling snowmen with the arctic powder that lays at their feet. They tuck layer after layer of ice and snow around the jolly figure, throwing on a scarf and hat to help keep his plump figure warm. As a finishing touch, two beady eyes and a long carrot are fitted gingerly into the frozen man's face. People stroll by, chuckling at the sight of the sculpture. As the bitter cold bites on through the night, a sole silhouette can be seen at the end of the block, watching the ice-glazed surface of the road.