The afternoon snow melted Xiao Shu's gloom. Unbidden, a poem came to mind:
Green ants in new-brewed wine,
A red-clay stove in the room.
All morning, the sky hung heavy and gloomy, casting an unusual dimness indoors. Xiaoshu even began to doubt her own eyesight. With her mind in a daze, she thought this hazy day would simply drift by.
By afternoon, the sky grew even darker, a faint chill creeping in. The forecasted light snow arrived as promised.
The first snowfall resembled fine drizzle, with no discernible flakes. Standing beneath the window in the afternoon, I watched the snow outside—now swirling chaotically, now drifting in neat, diagonal lines. It seemed unsure how best to express its joy, or perhaps it was simply releasing its lingering attachment to winter.
I had imagined spring snow would differ from winter's harshness, falling more delicately. Yet as the sky grew increasingly overcast, this spring snow showed no sign of ending winter's reign. Instead, it intensified, soon transforming into distinct flakes that took on a more vivid, three-dimensional form.
Pedestrians on the street didn't quicken their pace at the snow's arrival. Each seemed to revel in this late-winter gift, joyfully welcoming spring's approach.
In moments, the outdoors turned a vast expanse of white. The withered grass donned snowy robes, the resilient evergreens wore white caps—the world had changed its hue.
Xiao Shu joined friends downstairs to feel the snow's kiss firsthand. Spring snow truly arrives gently, romantically.
Returning indoors, she couldn't bear to brush the snowflakes from her scarf and hat. Watching them melt bit by bit, her whole mood seemed to brighten.
My friend remarked, "It reminds me of a song:
Snowflakes drifting down,
North wind howling,
Heaven and earth
A vast expanse
of desolation."
This age-revealing song, "One Cut of Plum Blossoms," was indeed fitting for the scene.
The snow continues to fall. This spring is bound to bring wonderful things—don't you agree?