Eithne stood as the snowflakes fell from the heavens above. Looking up she could see the snow falling, a non-ending vortex of white. Looking across the field she could feel the cold of the moonlit winter. The cold moonlit winter. Behold the moonlit winter. It’s beauty for all to see.
Looking down at the stream, frozen in place, the pearly ice reflecting the winter sky she saw her own face. She looked upon the field once more and continued her journey home.
Beyond the trees it’s needles covered white. The footprints left in the snow showed her journey yet. She continued on her way and came upon her house, She fed the chickens and the ducks and greeted her dogs. She sang quietly unto herself, a song she herself composed. She went inside and settled down with a cup of tea. Falling asleep in a chair with two dogs at her feet.
Waking up the next morning, Eithne looked out the window and went into the kitchen, prepared herself some breakfast and read a chapter of a book, She fed the dogs and fed the ducks and the chickens, gathering up the eggs. With that she returned to the house and sat down at the piano and played a song which she herself composed.