White
Snow fell heavily in those days. It always amazes me to see how pure a city becomes on such occasions as that. Every impure thing, every machine and every road is hidden, and nature shows itself over all these things. Nature shows how stronger it is, and how much more beautiful. So it was that that horrible city was nature again, and my feet would be deep in snow with every step. Sometimes I'd sink halfway to my shin, when I didn't take the beaten path everyone took. I did that a lot, to feel nature engulfing me and to hear the nice, soft sound that my steps produced in such a road. It was night, but never dark, for any light there was reflected brightly in the whiteness of the ground. The lighting is amazing when reflected in all that snow. It ranges from white to dark red to yellowish orange, enchanting the eye of whoever cares to take the time to contemplate it. And that white, clean, beautiful road, tinted with red and orange here and there, led me to the wind. A wind which had a scent of balsamic vinegar, and was as white as the snow. And off with the wind I went, through parks and streets and buildings that I could not recognize - it was as if I had been transported to some far away place, for the snow covered any signs that could remind me of where I was. And the wind was the only sound breaking the white silence, speaking softly to my ears. It spoke of love, peace, happiness, passion, cold and life. And though I eventually left that wind to sleep warm nights in many different places, it still whispers in my ears when I leave a house or a bar, and walk the streets of wherever I am. And it still whispers of those things that make me love life, or live love. One should never forget what is whispered to him by the wind.