As part of my novel, I will be sharing certain pieces in order to ascertain whether or not there is too much or too little description. This is fiction so dont take anything literal. But feel free to offer opinions- objective and intelligent ones only please! Thank you! As the snow fell softly, silently to the ground like the millions of leaves that preceded it, I walked with my hood down letting the cool flakes melt against my face. The sky was dark, full of angry clouds rolling over one another as if the earth was covered by an agglomeration of silver quilts. Everyday I took this walk, the same walk my father took me on for years until he past away and left me with only my insane mother. I was fourteen at the time, and when he died my life became a ship caught in a storm without an anchor. My mother was never quite right, hot tempered and quick to react without considering the consequences. She was loud and mean whether she had been drinking that day or not, and she had a way of making her words hurt just as much as a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire might hurt if you were to take a shot in the face from Barry bonds himself. It never seemed to bother my dad, he always looked at her with such empathy, such sorrow, that there must have been a time when she loved and laughed, but something so terrible occurred that it sucked all the beauty and happiness from her soul. He used to always tell me she was just lost and that we never turn our back on family so until this particular day I never did. Our daily walk together was our escape from my unloving mother and his unappreciative wife. Two miles of peace and quiet that never seemed to get old, never seemed repetitive. I could get lost in the streets, the Victorian homes, the brick buildings, and the park. Tall pines, beach and oak trees, homes for cardinals Robbins, blue jays, squirrels, and chipmunks. The songs they sing are music to the soul and I found peace in every moment. Even the silence is music to my ears, the slow moving winds brushing the limbs against one another as if, in their many years here, all they have ever dreamed of is to embrace their brothers and sisters but are forever just inches out of reach. The park was more than halfway through my walk, I stopped to breath in the fresh air, and listen to the soft rustling of the trees. It was four or five beautiful acres. Four white pavilions, one at each corner of the park, with red trim running parallel to the roofs, sat empty. December was surely too cold for a picnic but it wasnt uncommon for painters and photographers as well as joggers and dog lovers to spend their time in the park or walking the trail that ran through the center of the esplanade. The quiet usually appealed to me, it was my favorite thing about the walk, always tranquilizing. But on that day it sent a chill through my body, rushing up my spine and exiting through the hairs on my neck. I started walking down the path, the branches overhead creaked and moaned in the wind. The snow still fell, slowly working its way through the dense, opaque forest to the frozen ground.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 00:59:02 +0000
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