Crimson Snow (Micro-fiction)

As the last few birds flew off towards the horizon, the sun gave out a shade of brilliant crimson. Was it anger, or disgust? I knew not. It seemed as if he was in an emotional turmoil, an internal fit of anguish which expressed itself in the claret hues of his extinguishing beams. The snow on the earth came alive; its aliveness, most raw under the scarlet sun. The animals shied away; scampered to their castles under the thick undergrowths of green. But then, there were the trees. They stood tall, painted in all their grandeur; they feasted, and wassailed on the crimson snow with the revelling wind.


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