Snow fell slowly at first, then heavily. Tree branches dipped toward the trail, weighted down by tall white loaves on brown leaves. The snow hid the rough edges, muffled the sounds. My footfalls were swallowed into a winter vacuum. The snow deepened as I walked, despite the trees around the trail. The wind was light, yet the snow seemed to pile up over the trail and against my legs. I could still see the tops of weeds in the undergrowth off the trail, but the pile on the trail came up nearly to my knees. I thought perhaps the problem was the trail itself, but when I ventured off into the brush, the drifts came with me. The snow covered my legs up to mid-thigh, cold and heavy. I tried to run, but the resistance was too great, and my muscles were soon fatigued. Snow continued to fall, lighter now, yet the mound around my being grew faster. When the snow was up to my waist, I tried to compact it down with my feet and climb out, but the snow gave way under my feet as easily as dandelions would have. Still the drift climbed.
Week Eleven: Creative - Write Every Day