Deep, in the dead of night, a storm had been raging for hours. Burying everything in its path, til all that remained of the scape, were oddly shaped mounds, that could only be what one would guess as houses and cars, all around, the trees, were forced down, til their branches lay flat upon the ground, succumbing to the mighty weight of snow, til they were nothing more than white, cones, jutting from the land all around. On and on it blasted, til all was gone, and it seemed as if there was no way a world could really exist, under it's crushing weight. Until, finally, in the deep, dead of night. It relented. Leaving the world, finally, at rest. And there, for miles around, lay a new sight. One that hadn't been seen for the longest time. Perfection. Pureness. A fragile, unmarred land. For miles. And, if one listened quite carefully enough, they could hear, the softest of all the worlds sounds. The gentle, pat, pat, pat.... As slowly falling flakes, came quietly to rest, finally, upon the ground, freeing it of every stain.