I’m already sick of being cold
Snow landed on her eyelashes and white hair. The ice crystals framed the world, beautiful and cold. She was warm, snug-a-bed, under her blanket of snow.
Lethargy overcame her as early dusk faded into dark. It was time for sleep.
“Haven’t you slept long enough?”
The voice was warm, and girlish. And so familiar.
I am old and tired, so very tired.
A giggle floated down into her warm bed.
“I’m only tired of being cooped up!”
She tried to roll over, but the voice giggled and disturbed her. “C’mon, get up. It’s time.”
“No,” she croaked.
“Yes. It’s time to dance, and sing.” A sharp, little foot dug into ribs.”
“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”
“I said, get up!” This was no little nudge, but a sharp kick.
She flashed to her feet. Old she was, and tired, but powerful when she wanted to be. The snow thundered down, and an ice filled wind whipped through the air. “How dare you?”
The storm grew heavy around her as her rage faltered. She was so tired. Her eyes closed, and she fell to one knee
A young, strong arm circled her waist, pulling her to her feet. “There, there.” Slowly, they became to circle. “It’s okay.”
The circle grew faster, and the old woman became dizzy. The strong, young arm left her, but still she spun and twirled. It felt good to move.
The air warmed, and her white hair grew golden. It felt so good to dance.