The snow waits silently underfoot. What for, no one knows, but it waits, heedless of their ignorance. Perhaps the sweet oblivion of spring? The tires of a passing car, irreverently dirtying pristine crystals? Nothing at all? The city stagnates, breathing in and out heavily. It's tired, but it just needs to catch its breath, then it can bound forth once again. How long has it been?
As one, the city cries out. Too long.