Blossom In The Cold – by Allison Hoffelder (College)
She is a flower in the snow; a bloom through the ice. In his eyes, she is a mauve and lilac crocus. She is the first sign of better times in the midst of a seemingly endless blistering winter.
He adores her in all that she is from the moment she grows through the snow to the second she withers and dies. He grieves her in the coldest months and rejoices the second springtime nears.
Hair like rolling hills falls down her shoulders in shades of white, gold, and violet framing the gentle angles of her face. Eyes like amethysts sit above dusty rose cheeks and mulberry lips in a magnificent visage of winsome purity. Wings of petals and vines carry the tiny body adorned in spider silk so her dainty feet may never touch the ground.
She is the epitome of all things innately stunning in this world and nothing compares to the euphoria he feels when she grins for him and places a gentle hand on his cheek. They are almost like Persephone and Hades but gratefully he gets much more time with her than the long-suffering God of the Underworld does with his Flower Goddess Bride. He always wishes for more time but she is not to be attained and kept with an icy hand. No, she can only be held with a thawing and gentle grip.
Oddly enough he finds she looks her best in the dead of night when there are no rays of sun on her petals nor wandering eyes admiring her colors. Each night he dashes out to see her smiling widely and singing of her beauty.
In the night when it is just them, just the saffron fairy and reckless boy, under a full moon illuminating his floral dream he wishes for more time. He always wishes for more time.
Every year the time comes for the frost to encase his love and cradle her until the earth thaws and she awakes.
She is a crocus, the first flower to bloom, a harbinger of spring.