A Short Piece Of Writing

Instructions

When the cold burrows into your soft fingertips and the grass is frosted with snow, the Jukes come out to play. Whistling and frolicking and singing in high, timorous voices, their small feet scoring claw-marks through the white snow, they do dance. Fleetingly, rapidly spinning, twirling to the rhythm of the cold’s embrace, laughing jubilantly and sharing gleeful shouts.it seemed that the bulbous snowmen and glorious blissfulness of the winter’s morning cast a golden, angelic glow on the small creatures. the Juke-Klauses were a family of small, simply shaped, shrew-like creatures with bushy, banded tails, not unlike those of the lemurs that inhabit Madagascar. Their bodies were that of a thin, stringy type, However, their noses, long and rather pointed, sniffed eagerly at the frigid arctic air, tasting the scent of the wintertime. One small Juke-Klause, who we will notably call Sheldon, rested frigidly at the end of the small, cobbled path that ran down the Juke-Klauses’ garden. Sheldon raised a small, scarlet paw to dab at the snow on the branch next to him. This, he thought coldly, was indisputably the worst kind of weather you could have. In the summer, you could run around without, he scowled, having to be bundled up in whatsits and whosits alike. In summer, he sunk lower in his chair, you could roll around on the lush green grass without, fortuitously, having to worry about the fact that you could, inevitably, get wet. No, he thought. Wintertime was not his forte. “Sheldon, older brother! If you don’t like the cold, why do you bother sitting out here? You look ready to sink into the ground.” his younger sister, Flound, gazed at him with her ink-black eyes. Sheldon grumbled under his frosty breath, sending a small, white puff-cloud into the morning air. “Because then, dear sister, I wouldn’t be able to experience the true wonders of the morning that is now.” She narrowed those coal-black eyes in perplexity as she brought her little paws to rest on her older brother’s thin, mousey knees. “You see, Flound;” Sheldon began, looking as though he might ensue in a lecture that would, admittedly, send both the winter and Flound into a deep sleep, “I do not enjoy winter. But I must admit, it is more beautiful than summer. The fresh, brittle, crackling snow, which does fall upon our bodies lightly. delicate snowflakes, sister, that have unique patterns upon their icy designs. The cozy, lamp-lit nights, when snow falls all around, but you are safe. inside and warm, wrapped in a blanket and half-asleep, a book by your side. Even if I undoubtedly am quite a scrooge about snowball fights and snow angels and all the outside activities that our brethren indulge themselves in, I still enjoy the quiet moments of wintertime. Those are the best, and that is what matters to me. Do you grasp what I am trying to express, Flound?” Flound only responded with a small sigh, her body now leaned into Sheldon’s deeply, her eyelids closed and unblinking. With a small, inward smile, He wrapped his limbs around the small Juke-Klause and watched the winter go by.