Reading is like a snow storm; the words dance like snowflakes around you. You don't know where they will land. Or which way they will get blown to. The pages are the wind, stirring you in directions of its tale. Altogether forming the white cover on the ground forms it's story. She is beautiful, soft and yet cold and frozen, for so is the tale. Reading is like a snowstorm, for it resembles its define purity and cruelty.