Somewhere, high above, there passed a swarm of vast humming bees.
Out in the country, miles away from town, a baby played in the clear air, resting its plump knees in the shallow layer of chips where once a pile of wood had been.

It turned its face up toward the sky, and something soft and white and cool dropped down upon its cheek.
In mid-sky met the sun and the cloud, and the sun was vanquished, and all the world went gray.

Then, with a shriek and a whirl of a raw and icy air which dropped, dropped down, colder and colder and still more cold, all the world went white.

This snow came not down from the sky, but slantwise across the land, parallel with the earth, coming from the open side of the coldest nether hell hidden in the mysterious North.
Over it sang the air spirits.

Above, somewhere, there was perhaps a sky grieving at its perfidy.