My white cotton dress seems to thin when the frigid wind blows, touching my skin all over. I tip toe through the mud and roots that have made appearances above ground. The green grass has pretty much vanished now in this December weather but when I see a single blade of it, sticking up confidently in spite of the gloom, I feel like squinting because I haven’t seen something so bright out here in a while. A smile comes upon my thin lips when I see the gray lake coming into my view. During spring break there are so many people it doesn’t even look like a lake, but now it’s peaceful and quiet. It’s the way I like it. I walk to the water’s edge and poke my finger into the lake and ripples of ribbons form. From across the lake my tree awaits with its forked branches that make sitting exceptional. The wind decides to take action and sends my hair flowing behind me, which almost makes me laugh with glee at how much I miss this lonely winter lake. When I make my way to the tree, I climb to the tip top holding one hand onto the center and dangling my opposite hand and leg off into the air, a gesture I have done many times. It’s the closest thing I have to flying. I sit back down and hug my legs. If people were to see me they would see a small girl in a white flowing gown, sitting on a dead tree, in the dead of the day. They would think that I was sad and lonely. I don’t like the word lonely, it’s more like alone. Sometimes I just like to be alone. And I’m not sad either; I’m fascinated by the world. When people are complaining about the winter I’m out enjoying it. And I’m so lucky to have this to myself. So, so lucky, and then my thin lips form a smile once more.
Dead Winter, Not
March 22, 2012