An Attempt to show, not tell

Originally entitled: "Snowy writey thingy", later changed to "Winter"

You stand still, when it’s snowing, and you notice things you wouldn’t normally. You can’t tell quite where the cold is blowing strongest through your jacket, but you know you should probably close it. But the feeling of the cold wind blowing up your sleeves, towards the hands you had pulled inside for their safety is calming and peaceful. And really, so is the cold wind flowing around your body. 

You’re between two buildings. One directly behind you, stark red against the blank, almost perfectly white background. The other is slightly downhill, and its blue walls and white roof blend in with the snow. To the right, where there is normally a high, flat topped hill, there is nothing but the clouds blending down into the horizon. To your left is beautiful. The trees of the woods, across the sports fields, which usually look dull and gray. The farther trees are almost completely blurred out, and a line of closer, darker trees provides contrast that makes the scene look enchanted. You know they should either be on a postcard, or in an art museum. 

You’ve been standing a while, the wind blowing across the back of your neck and up your jacket. There is so much white, the clouds seem to have fallen around you. But the remnants of the old snow, pushed up into banks, hasn’t been covered yet. The blurry snow falling in front of your eyes with a pure white background is broken closer to the ground by the gray of the old snowbanks. 

You realize that your thumb is numb, and start walking towards the blue building. You’ve heard it’s slippery out, so you look down as you walk. The blackness of the tar startles your eyes, so used to the beauty of the white all around you. There are speckles where the salt has melted the snow, and tracks of slush where many people have walked. When you go down the stairs, you look up, to get a last look at the clouds and blowing snow. You still see the blackness and slush at the bottom of your vision. And then you reach the door, and go inside.

This was written a while ago, and aimed to capture what it feels like, but without any of the thought that goes into this happening. What a blank mind would see, and nothing else. No influence of how the observer feels, because I want the reader to be able to view the world in the way that is correct for them. That's pretty standard, and I wanted to see if it worked.

Grace

3/4 Spinster