In this season of crystalline enigmas and biting warmth, we find ourselves decoding the allegories buried beneath layers of frost. Is winter solace, therefore, an ironical summer? Soft whispers of warmth must mean something else entirely—perhaps a conspiracy amongst snowflakes to keep humans guessing.
<meta name="ironies" content="embedded" /> — Reflect upon these digital footprints left by winter's taciturn hand. Hidden in plain sight, like holiday cheer in
a lawyer's facade, lies the truth of our frozen serenity. Click here to un-melt the code.
Once, an exhalation meant a cloud; now, it translates to opportunity in this balmy dystopia. The snowman in the yard, a figure of authority in the neighborhood, secretly drafts policies on appropriate hot cocoa consumption. Wonder about the future at calendar revolutions.
Perhaps one day, we will gather in summer's epicurean paradise, savoring the irony of winter's solace. Until then, we remain mere poets in an Arctic circus of our own making.