Snow was a carpet in the front lawn. The tree loomed in the corner, proudly decorated with tinsel and ornaments. Piles of springs and cushions blocked the window, blocked the cold breath of Father. But as the snow melted, the Earth began to wake. The tree was removed, place aside to be set ablaze, and the leather and tweed was moved to let Mother in. It was always open, letting the smell of Her warmth float onto the carpet. Little brothers liked to invite the rainy ground inside, let it splatter the wood and coat the cushions. When the sun shone brighter, hotter, machines lured the sticky air inside, and blew a fresh, cool, breeze into an empty room. Dust covered the furniture while the dominant creatures retreat elsewhere. By the time autumn comes Mother is growing tired, Father is growing stronger. the sofas are moved to make room for a painting or new lamp. Father crawls in again and the sofas are moved to make room for the tree, to barricade against Father, just like last year. The cycle starts again, but with a new year.