Deep in the wilderness there is a small town nestled in the snow.
The tiny village sat nested against the mountain, shivering between stone and forest. Snow billowed towards the earth as if God held smokestacks down from heaven. The tempest was thicker than fog, but beautiful and laced with the scent of pine. The town itself appeared to me a group of children, huddled against the snow with the strange glow of firelight dancing across their faces and with eyes sparkling like a nest of jewels, cold and frightened. So was this village, beautiful and hidden in the winter storm, and yet somehow alive and radiating with the caress of firelight through windows and with the colored fairy lights strung like beads of a necklace resting limp against a frail collarbone.
It was inviting, and yet so much in its own world that I dared not destroy it. Some places are supposed to be left untouched. But what a kind sight it was as I lay down in the snow, Mother Nature dutifully building a coffin as she does slowly, gently for all her children. The town was so close, but I was afraid - afraid that I would stumble into the village to find it a product of delusion brought on by hunger and cold. Instead I chose to die knowing that there was some beauty left in the world, and I am at peace.