CHANNILLO

Bran and Jannelle
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Bran walked to the mailbox, his boots crunching in the snow around him. It was always an ordeal doing something so simple in the winter. Alaska wasn't a cruel mistress, but she wasn't a walk in the park. In fact, if he wanted to walk in the park, he'd have a hard time finding it under all the snow. The air was eerily silent, just like it always was in a light snow storm. He marveled, even after all these years at how quiet the world got when frozen water fell from the sky. No animals frolicked, no birds flew from branch to branch, and even the neighborhood children were warmly tucked inside with steaming cups of cocoa. 
As he took the last few step to his old, beat up, metal mailbox, he smiled at the calm. WInter was his favorite time of year in the north. The dark, the quiet...

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