darker days, part one.

The rain will stay, and I’m alright with that. It will wash out all the hopes or dreams that we’ll conjure up, like a snowy winter or a sunny day. I quietly walked with my head down that morning, letting the rain slowly drip off the peak of my hood. As I walked through the grass, I noticed it had turned a dark green, rich with life; the soft blades had let their hair grow long. I dreamt about the sun, and in reverie I saw my summers to come. I quietly walked by you this morning, and I noticed you noticing me. The leaves had turned, and I suppose they won’t be turning back. People won’t shed a tear, though, when they fall, but rather they’ll laugh and smile as they watch the young family make memories, as they play in our fallen friends. I quietly walked through a pathway surrounded by large oak trees; the leaves fell like a storm of orange, yellow and brown down in front of me. I thought about the letter you wrote me. I promised you it would stay buried deep inside the pages of myself. We’ll meet again someday, and we’ll say all the things we wished we had said long ago. I know that all these things won’t fall too far from my heart.

There is a blanket that covers this city. We wander, aimlessly, witnessing each other’s wondering, and we question, “why are things the way they are?” The sun has become fed up with our aimless behavior, and he deserts us. Now all we’re left with is our fading fluorescent lights. Anyways, back to the blanket: thankfully in the sun’s absence, the blanket keeps us warm during the colder months, and we love to show it off to all our friends who live just past the mountains. They always swoon and gush over how lucky we are to have it, but, the truth is, sometimes I’d rather just be cold. Sometimes I’d rather be covered by a blanket of snow; blessed winter sunshine shining down on my face, which has become cold from the wind. O the wind! It blows with such a fury! And with no mountains around our humble prairie towns, it blows hard during the magnificent frozen sunsets. I can remember the safety and warmth that I could feel being indoors, like the city wrapped in it’s blanket feels. The snow looked like an orchestration of white eighth notes, falling as the conductor gracefully swayed his arms, sending the notes in motion.

My hands shook with tremors and chills of frost running through my frozen veins. I kept my eyes focused on the soft, untouched powder that lay before me, each step ruining this beautiful portrait of snow and earth. There was nothing to be heard. Only the soft sound of my lungs sucking in air, and spitting it back out. A sudden gust of wind gently said hello as it blew through the nearby trees. I watched as it slow-danced with the leaves, and sauntered with the branches, and as it blew the soft powder across the infinite field. I remember wandering down the ghost-town streets of this dead village, on one of those gray sky days. I dreamt that I was sauntering down some gaudy, lavished New York avenue, with all the shops lit up by thin white Christmas lights. I’d peer into the window of the abandoned electronics store, and a wide array of elegant dresses, and dapper suits hung off of mannequins.