Winter Descriptive Writing

A winter wonderland of a neighborhood: this place is lit by streetlights and laughter. As the world turns crystalline, we gather to triumph a year of silver linings.

What a time of joy! We play through the streets; sleds gliding through snow, hands turning rosy. Snowballs fly through the air and angels pattern through the snow. As we frolic through the streets, cardinals flit between trees. This dusky sky turns to a night bathed in stars, illuminated with our unfounded rejoice.

A gush of cold wind then the creak of a rustic, timber door. Here lies the maple scent of chestnuts roasting on an open fire; candy canes and gingerbread melting in the air; jingling bells and glittering lights. The glossy wooden ground adorned with presents of every shape and size, each sealed with a golden bow. Quiet murmurs of wind and the whisper of velvet snow. The three shines brightly: eight point star, silver tinsel, and metallic orbs tickling each fern. Listen closely. Do you hear the sound of midnight reindeer? Starlight dances across the night sky, candles flicker. An old vinyl disk twirls round and round: singing about White Christmases and Silent Nights. We hum to the melody of hot cocoa and feet by the fire, swaying our heads and drinking in the tender scent of home.

In a circle we gather to hold hands and hug. We laugh as we pull apart presents and exchange shared nostalgia. Red poinsettias line the railings of warm, deep-brown stairs, a mistletoe dances happily above us. A gentle glimmer shines from the moon as we regale tales of this year and dreams of the next. This golden hour that blankets us, a moment of snow-covered glee.

From cinnamon chocolate to shiny gold paper; icy white pine trees to red threads of wool; ribbons of flame to soft frosted cookies, tonight glows blissfully the feeling of love.

❅❆❅

The center of attention. Green spines splicing through a snow-stricken sky; smooth ornaments – albeit, a few with swirls of rough glitter, dimly illuminated – glowing at the grace of a star, cupped in the hands of an angel.

The Christmas tree. The indescribable aroma of winter, the peppermint and piney scents grazing over each other as snow lingered in the air, timidly trickling into candles and cups of cocoa. Past the hasty children tumbling over lengthy streamers, the snow angels and contrasting footprints – under the décor and prickly leaves. Presents. One glance at the reds and greens of glossy wrapping paper, covered in messages, scrawled with hearts. Presents to and from, family and friends, secret admirers and long-held friendships. Boxes of all shapes, crowding the bottom of the Christmas tree, waiting to be eagerly torn open. The tallest ones peek through the leaves and reveal bows plastered onto the paper coverings, the last petals of winter unfurling in the palm of your hand. And once the carolers have sung, and the cocoa’s long gone, impatient footsteps will decorate the grounds and leave the tree bare.

A present. Long-awaited, warm with adoration against chilly hands. It is admired, the peeling tape is poked at and the box is shaken – yet it remains silent of its contents. Once blood rushes to your hands and your hesitation melts away, excited whispers and urgings slowly remove the bow. Perhaps the thin paper noisily tears apart, or the tape gently peels back and unfolds itself. Underneath the sealed layers lie trinkets, books, jewelry, chocolates, flowers and cards detailing the care, a manual, explaining the love behind each remembered memory and every fold in the cover. A promise of a future after winter, as the snow one day leaves; the ice flows into rivers and the star no longer shines upon its tree. A thank you.

Those trinkets now sit atop a fireplace; the books have lost their fresh scent and gained one of a home; jewelry not dulled as it rests against skin; the chocolates and flowers long gone but present as the card, tucked in a drawer, tells us of each leaf and its story. Yet, Christmas flows in the air, and a cinnamon scent awakens the resting fawn outside to leave trails to another year of appreciation. Inside a box, covered in paper, topped with a bow, under a tree, under the snow.

❅❆❅

Hope you enjoyed our first descriptive writing post! The first piece was written by Anya and the second piece was written by Nat!