[ WP ] Describe profoundly , emphasizing the environment around you and your personal feelings ... standing in a quiet snowfall

White. 
 
 The world was white around me. The ground stretched in a white mass toward the white trees that stooped low towards the ground under the weight of the pure white snow. The whiteness fell from the blank white sky around me, twirling pieces of snow fluttering around me as if given a breath of life as fragile and beautiful as they were. My breath came short, the air frozen, my hot breath condensing into a cloud of white. 
 
 I was a spot of color in a land of white. As if all creation had been planned in this whiteness, and that I alone refuted that plan. The wind blew hard, kicking up pieces of the loose sheet of snow that sat atop the heavier packed snow. It kicked up until it mingled with the falling snow, blinding my vision with its perfect whiteness. My mind reeled from this and hollow visions of a past not long passed turned ceaselessly, as if looking for rest and finding none. 
 
 Rest. 
 
 The whiteness of the world deadened my limbs, and the bags under my eyes deepened with the cold. The past rolled ceaselessly in my mind and I rolled with it. There was no rest for me in this white world. No rest for the lone bit of color in an a world made only of opaque and impenetrable whiteness. The past rolled; I rolled with it. 
 
 Rolling. 
 
 Flipping end over end, floating in air as if I was a snowflake. My life a tiny breath breathed into me from the wind, unable to control where I went; I flew with it. I rolled with it. Her fingers had been white. Her grip on the steering wheel had been firm. Her blonde hair bleached by the whiteness around us. We had been safe in the confines of that little box with wheels. Looks can be deceiving. We had been deceived, left over confident and prideful in our little box, deceived by the white. 
 
 Firm. 
 
 Her grip had been firm; her hands never wavered from the wheel, no question of her ability. The wheels had not been firm. Brakes could do nothing against the white ice, even as it was heated by the friction to the point of melting, we slid. We turned and then flipped. Once, twice, a third time; our little box crumpling in on us. I reached for her, found nothing. Gravity flipped again and again, it was rolling; we were rolling. We rolled with it. 
 
 Then my belt began slipping; I was slipping. I was out among the white. The white that was blemished by huge tracts of upturned dirt. Then there was black. Black to white, and I stirred. The car was covered in a light dusting of the falling snow. I was dusted in the same snow. The small crystals taking root among my color and standing out like pinpoints of light. I moved instinctively. I moved to the car. I moved to her. The snow kept falling. Even as I neared the car. The white was all around us. But now that white was marred with red. 
 
 White. 
 
 The world was white around me. The ground stretched in a white mass toward the white trees that stooped low towards the ground under the weight of the pure white snow. The whiteness fell from the blank white sky around me, twirling pieces of snow fluttering around me as if given a breath of life as fragile and beautiful as they were. My breath came short, the air frozen, my hot breath condensing int a cloud of white. Her breath would never come again, and I would be alone in this world of absolute whiteness. I would be alone in this world, but not for long. 

