As winter really sets in, the frost, snow and ice make for a magical setting. Great for firing up imaginations. We’ve gathered six of our favourite winter writing prompts from Pobble 365. Can your class use them to create some wonderful winter writing?
The King of Winter
“The Winter King strolled confidently through the river of ice. This was HIS domain. Here, it was always winter.
This used to be a place of happiness; beams of sunlight would streak down through the trees, pouring warmth onto the forest floor. Birds would sing happily from their nests, fish would swim in the warm waters of the stream and beautiful flowers would burst out of the soft earth. Now, all of that had disappeared, having retreated from this new age of cold.
Wherever he went, the cold followed him. Frost flowed from his fingertips, snow formed around his feet and his cold stare turned all life into statues of solid ice.
Summer was trapped under his spell. Would the world ever experience warmth again?”
Winter is coming…
“One half of the world was everlasting summer. One half of the world was perpetual winter.
In Summerland birds sang happily in the trees as the glorious sun beat down upon the blissful inhabitants, in a dream-like existence of utter perfection.
In Winterland frost hung down from the skeletal trees like mirthless fangs, the unsympathetic snow punishing all life like a merciless god.
Stitch by stitch the Lady of Winterland worked tirelessly; growing the borders, furthering the boundaries, extending the wrath of the cold, inch by frozen inch.
Winter was coming…”
The Ice Man
“It was a bitterly cold morning. The world was locked in a wintery battle, with a whirlwind of frost and snow marching all over the countryside.
This winter was different to a normal winter. This winter was coming alive.
The Ice Man turned his frosted face from side to side, and stretched and flexed his icy fingers…”
World of Ice
“When they went to sleep that night, Laura and her sister Maisie had looked out over their garden. The trees were full of rusty leaves — orange like copper kettles — that danced gracefully in the wind. They had enjoyed a spell of warm weather recently, and the garden was happy to be so full of life and growth.
When they woke up the next morning they couldn’t believe their eyes. Winter had sneaked up on them without them even noticing. He had flexed his icy fingers and touched everything in his path. The garden was covered in his frosty trail, and even the lawn was blanketed by his snowy cape.
The rusty, copper leaves were now entombed in ice; they were the hands of winter, held up to the sky in surrender…
Can you write a description of winter arriving where you live?”
“The fox shifted his weight onto his right paw, pushing back against nature, fighting to remain upright despite the bitterly cold gust that threatened to topple him.
Snowflakes and chips of ice whipped across his face, stinging his eyes, and the howling words of winter filled his ever-alert ears. The fox wasn’t worried though: he had see harsher winters than this.
His soft, thick coat glowed a majestic shade of orange, like the rising sun on a midwinter’s morning. It’s contrast to the pale purity of the surrounding snow was startling.
‘Crack…’ Fox heard the sound of a twig snapping in the undergrowth to his left. ‘Crack…’ he could hear the sound again, more faintly this time, just above the whistle of the wind.
Something moved. He froze…”
“It was winter.
The thunder rumbling overhead seemed to taunt the young girl as she watched in horror while half of her home drifted away across the merciless, half-frozen sea.
She had awoken minutes earlier, disturbed from her sleep by the most appalling noise. It sounded as if a tree were being torn apart by giants, as if the Gods above were screaming at each other in a wild rage. She thought it was the end of the world. Perhaps it was. For her anyway.
In only her pyjamas, she stood on the edge of her ruined home, her toes dangling over the edge of the splintered floor, shivering in the harsh wind as it seemed to touch her skin like the kiss of some icy demon. She screamed at the top of her voice in despair and frustration, almost pleading with her frost-drenched surroundings to bring them back to her. She could see them. They were waving and shouting to her in return.
In front of her she could see the giant, drifting shards of ice, their edges sharp like Samurai swords. They knocked into each other as they were swept by the tide, reminding her of some cruel jigsaw that couldn’t be solved. She knew she could not reach them…”