Buried in the Snow

The heavy snow I saw was enough to bloom everything. Is the heavy snow you saw the same as mine? I can hear the ringing of the bells, telling one special story after another. But you are just watching from the top of the story, observing the beginnings and endings one after another. You are in the story, but you are also outside the story. The truth is not far away, but it is eventually buried by the heavy snow. What I recycle only has one result in the end. I'm called a "recycler."