The Winter Home

A short little piece about the attached photo.

Silver flakes dance softly to the ground. Some are caught by the strong, outstretched arms of the trees, others make it the forest floor, which is already wrapped snuggly in a blanket of snow. The air is brisk and quiet, nothing to be heard except the occasional whisper of wind, and the crunch of snow under the padded paw of a wild animal scrounging for a last-minute snack before they slip into a much-desired nap. Winter falls quickly on this sleepy home, the birds leave their now empty nest in seek of warmth in a foreign land, and the usually lively paths are barren and untraveled.  The vivid greens being replaced by the mystical sparkle of white, mounds of frozen fluff covering the sharp edges. The only sign that anything lives is a single column of grey smoke that grows steadily in the distance by something so out of place it must be in the perfect spot. Its bright red walls nestled comfortably among the towering evergreens. Its frosted windows glistening back the pale moonlight. The quiet air filling with the sounds merriment and laughter as the smell of Christmas softly coos its soothing song to anyone who will listen.

Reviews

[charlie]

Vivid and very descriptive. This looks like a fruitful writing exercise. You'll see some adjectives work better then others, though (like "frozen fluff" ?)
There's an expression used in music, called "chopping wood". It describes the whittling away of the non-essential fill that might otherwise clutter a clean performance. I'd reckon a writing exercise like yours would be a great opportunity to try out a little "chopping wood", too. Perhaps some of the articles could be targeted...