In the twilight of the days, in the evening of the year, as inebriated fools hail the fading sun and curse the coming darkness, I whisper into the cooling winds, my words wandering across the earth. The earth comes to rest for another cycle, as the colors flee before my cold. I am approaching on whirling clouds of grey and gloom, quickly gathering into the storms ahead. Darkness looms above, as shadows grow below, nothing escaping the darkness that comes upon the land like a mad torrent of unforgiving anguish.
My cold chills to the bone any caught outdoors. I blast forth from the depths of men’s fears, swallowing up the bright summer days and the colors of the fall, washing all life of its warmth and painting the world in white. Men cower indoors, huddled about together before fires, trying to stave off my chill, trying to bear my wrath for another season, shivering through the long nights and longer storms as I vent my cold fury upon all who would dare to venture forth amid my sovereignty .
Behold, mere mortals, the rancor of my reign! Curse your curses upon my head if you will, offer me supplication from your scant stores, wail into the howling darkness your entreaties for forgiveness, but you will know no mercy. I am King Winter, and you will taste my death, trapped in the darkness of my grasp. Struggle and flee, my chill gales will pursue you, will gnaw at you, will bring you down into numb submission, and will tear the last warmth of life from your frozen bones.
Only when the land is dead, and the chill has sunk into the rocks and dirt will I depart once more. Only when I have had my fill of your misery, only when I have scoured the leaves and chased the joy from all who survived my vengeance, Only then will spring come to know the land. Only then will men emerge and whisper of my cruelty. Only then will men and beast return to the land. Only then will they once more claim lordship upon the world and build and breed. Only when my menace is a memory will they farm and flourish. But men and beast alike would do well to remember that seasons come and seasons go, and seasons pass and seasons grow. Tarry not long upon the land, for in the autumn of the year I bide my time, and once more the dark clouds grow upon the skies above and once more my words wander forth, heralds to be headed, to be feared, to be dreaded. Signs and portents of the fall of light and warmth should be heeded, for once more I will know my glory and life will know what cruel consequence cold can carry.