From Jones Upon a Time

It had snowed heavily that day. The peppers hung there still, red and lazy. It looked like an unpaid intern had edited the garden. The rest of the landscape was suitably monochrome for a winter afternoon. Some called it lovely and exquisite, while others found it monotonous in the extreme, like a polar bear’s wardrobe.

The flakes were light, fluffy; the pancakes only wished they could achieve such a state. But they could only watch, enviously glowering from beneath blankets of syrup out the frost-covered window.

As the snow continued to fall, the flakes got larger. Absurdly large, in fact. They hurriedly dropped to earth as though they feared spring would come before they touched down.