A third into the white.

He tries once again, to step out of the cabin. Into the cold, into a world he shunned from. The first, he suffered frostbite. The second, a painful lesson that kept him home. Now, he sees different - light. And he is awed by the beauty of snow, the white and gentle, floating, fleeting. Winter's ending, along with it's beauty and harshness. And so he hurries back in, to fetch a glass bottle. Transparent, albeit fragile, to contain the beauty he sees. And he scoops up the white into a clear, gently removing any impurities. Then, back into the home, on the table by the fireplace.

It simply melted. Not that his chiller would help, except to bring artificiality to it's beauty and to the perception of it.

A sudden epiphany - yes. He learns of his selfishness. The existence of the beauty he witnessed lasts only because of its environment - beauty in its untouched state. Cold and harsh. His stupidity and selfishness only brought wetness.

Perhaps Spring would bring a differnce. A different land, a different environment.