The roses on the bushes that line the front of the house were dusted in a thin layer of snow; it was fine like powdered sugar, and the contrast of the red and the bright white made Hannah’s fingers itch with the desire to bring out her camera and take a photograph.  Although, lately, more things were giving her that urge, which she hadn’t experienced in months.
It was nice, the return of a feeling once familiar.  For months she hadn’t had the energy to want to take any pictures, or even to do anything but sit in the dark of her room and sleep or surf the Internet.  All of her former passions had slowly drifted away in a current of exhaustion.  It had taken every ounce of effort to even want them to come back.  But here they were, shiny and new and more beautiful than they had ever been before.
The doctors told her that it would get even better, that things would get their color back and she would truly want to live.  That was already starting; Hannah could sometimes feel little bursts of hope spark up in the pit of her stomach in place of the fear she was so used to.
However, it would be a lie to say that the world was some sort of ethereal, magical place in her eyes after having started to recover.  It wasn’t even necessarily that good, just better than it had been.  And that was more than enough to aid Hannah in her endeavor to stay alive.
Before she could form another complete thought, the front door opened.  “Hannah?”  Her mother, voice soft and quiet, asked.  “You need to come inside, it’s getting too cold for you to be out here without a jacket on.”
That shouldn’t have made her tear up, but it did.  Small gestures that showed how much people cared had been doing that to her recently.  She nodded and followed her mom inside.
“Everything alright?”  The question brought her back to reality.
“Yeah, Mom.  It is.”
For the first time in a hell of a long while, that was true.