Based on a picture prompt from Tumblr.
It had always been one of his favourite seasons, and sometimes he missed the winter snow on the island. Not the cold per se, but the sheer beauty of pristine white blanketing everything.
As a child he'd always been eager to be the first one to put tracks in the snow. He remembered that time when the first drifts were particularly deep and he'd jumped in only for the snow to be taller than he was.
The memories warmed his heart as the thermal gloves warmed his hands.
It was still early, the sun still low in the sky. It would have dazzled him were it not for the sunglasses. He carried on his run around the old farm until he reached the beaten track beside the two old silos and the hay barn.
He just had to pause at the sight.
The sun had just cleared the silos. Its shine was muted slightly by the clouds which held promise of more snow before the end of the day.
He breathed in crisp air and admired the view.
Maybe one day, when he was too old to fly a Thunderbird, he'd retire back home with his memories.
Laughter filled the air as he set off again.