An Average but Wonderful Day
The cold and fresh winds come first, whispering in my ears, an off-tune song. Rustling the trees’ beautiful gowns of fiery reds, oranges, and yellows. Fall, when things begin to die, or go into deep sleep. Though even in death and slumber they are beautiful. The only trees that like to keep their green garments are the evergreens. Knowing that there must be some color in the white world of winter. Looking out my window I see all of this beauty. I notice the first snow begins to fall, but only for a couple of minutes, snow never seems to last long enough. I like the cold. Even when it bites into my nose and ears. When I feel the cold I want to start moving; I feel more alive. I get on my winter clothes and take a step outside. Yet all I do is just stand there and watch the snow make its descent to the ground. I stick my tongue out to catch some snow. After a few seconds of no cold touching my tongue, I realize that my breath and body heat warms and melts the snow before it reaches my mouth. I hold my breath, and a few flakes make it to my tongue before I exhale again. I play outside for hours before I make my way back to the door ready to get back into the warm house. But before I can even step inside my mom makes me do a thorough clean off. “Stomp and kick the snow off your boots, take off and shake the snow from your jacket, then you can come inside. But make sure that you leave everything that is wet and all that in the hall so you don’t ruin the carpet.” Lighting a fire is always fun when you’ve spent time outside, and your toes and fingers are so numb they seem to have gone out of existence. So strange to watch the fire eat ravenously at the wood and be hungry for more. I can only sit near that flaming beast for so long before my eyes begin to sting and the heat becomes too much for me. The fire reminds me of the trees and their vibrant outfits of yellows, reds, and oranges. I wonder if the trees copied the fire, or did the fire copy the trees? I stand back from the fire, still staring into it, watching it slowly eat away and break the wood. Gazing into the flames, I begin to drift off. Going from the world of reality back to the world of thought. I find myself pacing back and forth, thinking of a book I read a little while back. The book was about a boy kind of like me but in some ways completely different. After the fire has died down I go to my living room with glass doors and look at my snow-covered backyard.