A picture of winter

The door knob isn’t too cold. I grasp it with my warm hand, and turn. A rush of cold air pushes on my entire body. The air bites. It nips at my nose. My muscles tighten. I feel like turning around. Diving back into the warmth and safety. I clench my jaw. Squint my eyes. Ball my fists. Curl my toes in my shoes. Instinctively turn my back to the icy wind. Push my legs forward. The walk seems longer than I remember. Crunching under my feet. Again and again. And then soft sand. Cold sand. I remember how the sand can burn my skin in the summer. Impossible. I raise my head to find the sun in the sky. Concealed behind gray misty clouds. It is not a hot ball of fire. It is a warm glowing orb. Stretching its power out wide. I need the sun to my back. It shows the branches so much better with its real light. I square myself so that the sun is directly behind me. The tree in front of me. I look up. Bare. Brilliantly red. The picture will never show how red it is in reality. There are buds already. They will stay inside for a while. Quite a while. I turn on my camera. Wait. Push the button. Look. The wind pushes on me again. I frame the beautiful bare tree. Up a little, then down. Step to my left. The sky is not bright blue this time. I notice. Breath, click, hold.


Dea Lorea


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