The snow fell silently, gracefully, and with finality; as if it would never melt away in a thousand years. The old stone wall was gone, buried, and with it the path. His footprints would go too soon enough. The house grew larger as he approached. A good, solid house of brick and stone and hardwood: it would protect him while he slept.
What the world would look like when he awoke, when the snow was gone, he couldn’t say. Different, likely. A new language to learn, probably. New people, new customs to observe. There always had been, every time before.