The trees never sprouted leaves anymore. But there were pictures in children’s books about what they used to look like. Lush, green, velvety leaves, changing color only when a season called “Fall” came around. But that, in my opinion, was when they were the most beautiful. Reds and oranges and yellows, falling from the trees and dancing their way to all of their friends below. But that was only in fairytales. Now, the trees were bare, lifeless, and Big Ben was forever frozen on the time 4:21 – the day the never-ending winter came. It had been years since the winter storm, but it felt like it had been just yesterday. Houses were still boarded up, farms abandoned, livestock a thing of the past. The grass was never soft and green anymore, only hard and brown. Snow lined the streets, a greeting to anyone who came to visit from other countries, not that it happened very often. But, this was a way of life now: a life without popsicles, or drinking ice cold pop or swimming in lakes with friends. It was a life filled with hot chocolate and warm nights spent beside the fire and ice skating with friends. It was all we’ve known for the past fifty years, and it’s all we’ll ever know.