The snow falls in silent flakes, green baby leaves off pliable branches shudder under the unfamiliar weight. The light fluffy cold that grips so tightly, which slips out of sight, lost in crisp wilderness of this winter wonderland. Shimmering, glistening, dreaming of spring long past, now it's winter time, time to warm up in the bar and order a flask. Children sleep with dreams of summer, is no one going to tell them that summer doesn't exist in this wasteland? Dreams, hopes, desires drift from here to that other place where it is warm and life reaches to the warm sun. Will summer ever return; this is as true as the ice that formed on the lake. The seeds, carefully prepared, labeled, and bagged were the promise of next year's crops. Days are filled with keeping the wood stove flaming- cutting logs, splitting, carrying, this fire that they desire. Huddled in bed, keeping warm with fire and flask counting the time until the blizzard snow melts. The sun reappears, the fields uncovered for belated planting, hope springs through eternity, spring arrives at last.