The room was dark: the only light came from a string of Christmas lights hung around the window.  Christmas had been more than a month ago, but he didn’t celebrate the holiday anyway.  He merely enjoyed the little points of color the lights provided.  They were… right, somehow, in the dark as the wind whistled past.

The top layer of snow swirled around across the yard.  It covered everything, but little was falling now.  The wind seemed determined to push the powder as far south as it could.  The whole scene – framed by the colored lights – was in constant motion as he looked on from his chair.

He had wrapped himself in a blanket and prepared a cup of hot tea.  The tea had cooled to room temperature, entirely forgotten on the end table.  The blanket was serviceably warm, though the sound of the wind made him shiver anyway.

How many winters had it been?  The obvious answer referred to his age, but that did not reflect reality.  Too many had gone by without snow or even cold spells.  Those had become more commonplace in recent years.  But this was a proper winter.  This took him back to the winters of his childhood.  Still, he preferred to observe rather than play in it.  How many more did he have?  Would this be the last?  If so, at least it was wild and chaotic.

He felt rather than heard some rumbling.  Perhaps it was a truck passing by.  Or maybe the bombs had begun to fall.  Either way was the same.  He stayed in his chair and watched out the window.  The lights were soothing, and the snow made the world perfect.  So he sat and watched until sleep finally took him.