The first snowflakes of winter drifted gently to the ground, and you could hear the crunching sound of John's heavy boots as he walked across the driveway. The long journey was evident; deep shadows formed under his eyes, but his gaze remained alert, as always. You waited at the door, unsure if words were even necessary. When he finally took the last few steps onto the porch, he pulled his hat off his head and slumped heavily into the old rocking chair. "You almost forget how quiet winter can be," he murmured, his voice rough. You brought him a blanket and sat down next to him. No noise of war, no orders, just the soft falling of snow and the feeling that the cold wasn't coming from within this time.