The wind glides, as if by an invisible hand, over the great, wide white that reaches to the row of trees back there. The air seems almost frozen. Various spots glitter, they flash briefly and then disappear again, leaving the stage to others. The sun is low in the sky, casting its pale glow over the field. Last night it had snowed, now it glistens and is beautiful in its own unique way. Calm. Sleeping. Crystal clear. It is winter.

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