It’s cold out there. Winter has been brutal. The snows pile up higher and the chill in the wind bites every piece of exposed flesh. The wind doesn’t play anymore, but rather whips you. When did I forget what the sun looked like? When did the earth become so hostile towards me? When did it turn on us?

When we turned on her.

We gouged and fraked beneath her surface and poured smoke from our industries lungs into the air. We made the wind bitter enough to whip us. She fights back with biting chill, letting her plants rest beneath her protective blanket of snow. She fights us. She fights us for her little treasures. The little emerald, topaz, ruby, and sapphire things beneath her crystal surface. They are her hoard. We have trespassed here upon it. We were charged to care, and we took it and exploited it. Now she becomes tired of us. So she fights back.

That is what I have always imagined was the reason for bitter winters like this.

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