Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to the BBC. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
It'll Snow Again Next Year Doctor
The snow was always alive Doctor, can you not see?
Born into snowflakes as it falls from the clouds, your cloud Doctor, it is born when it falls from your cloud.
The playful lover, settling for a chaste kiss on soft, chapped lips. I know you're thinking of my lips again Doctor, don't worry, I'm still waiting for another kiss.
It is the dance partner to the wind, flitting and twirling and turning, spinning and whirling. Don't worry Doctor, you'll get your chance, I've got just the song in mind.
It groans like an old, arthritic granddad under footsteps, creaking like bough of a tree tearing off a limb. It feels the puncture wounds in its unblemished skin, but it heals them with a fresh patter of dust.
Eventually Doctor, it melts; it has to melt.
Just wait until next year, or whizz ahead in that fancy box of yours.
You will meet me again Doctor.
Yours, Soufflé Girl