“It’s a vibrant colour for sure.” Gun Roswell

“This is when the gloves come off!” She stated with a huff and puff.

Throwing down the protective shielding onto the ground, she was about to defy all beliefs of what would happen when exposing yourself to the elements.

It was that time of the year, when the cold season had taken over. There was no hiding from the white powdery substance covering most of the northern world. The only thing to do to survive was to put as much woven garments on top of the skin as possible. The degrees sinking down below zero in the tens, sometimes even hundreds, this season lasted for a length of six moons.

But those damn mittens! How they irritated her, especially today. They were always in the way. Grabbing things was not easy, not to mention holding a shovel.

She looked at the discarded gloves laying on the ground. Red against the whitest of snow. Pretty were they, she thought and kept staring at them, while her fingers were getting numb. Finally, as beckoning her, she scooped the offending mittens from the pile of snow, pulled them on and admired the colour and the feel of them.

Once again, she was happy in her gorgeous red mittens.