from the story:
“Shaken by the harsh winds, the snowflakes tumble riotously. They will likewise give up, settle in, interlock, take hold, go dark. The Grandmother can tell, in no time will there bea blanket so thick, it will breach the window’s ledge. The snow will then rise to block what remains of her view onto the field. Never but when the arctic anomaly descends upon this portion of the world, does the icy fracturing on the glass foretell a wintery cataclysm like this. The Grandmother has long wondered, not if but when it would occur, and when it did, where would it find her, or her daughter, or her daughter’s family. Storms like this have scripted many a sorrowful tale…”
butterflybroth 