Sunday, December 31, 2006

Creative Writing: Snow at the Gazebo

I missed posting any of my own writing last week because I was away from my computer and wasn't up to the challenge of drafting something new in all the hectic pre-Christmas preparation. But this week I'll post something a little longer than usual. This is a piece of snow-bound prose I wrote a few years ago, that I spent this afternoon editing. I don't know who "she" is or what the rest of her story will be, but this scene is meant to show you a few things about her.
She walked across the park, her footsteps muffled by the thin layer of new snow. She felt almost stealthy in her silent tread. She had seen the gazebo in the distance, looking like an old postcard in its winter perfection. She wanted to watch the world from that gazebo, watch the snow and listen to the near-perfect stillness that surrounded the spot.

When she reached the gazebo, she took the first two steps with excitement. Too late, she realized the steps were metal, covered with ice and snow, and as slippery as any surface she’d encountered. She clutched at the railing as her feet slid out from under her. Barely staying upright, she half-walked, half-crawled up the last two steps to the safety of the covered gazebo. She yelled at herself for being careless as she looked around to be sure no one was watching. For a moment, her Jerry Lewis antics and resulting embarrassment broke the enchantment of the winter park, just as her curses and mutterings broke the silence. She resolved to go home to defeat. Defeat and hot chocolate.

But the next moment, she began to notice her surroundings again. And the view held her in that spot as well as any cage. Nearby, three lampposts with amber lights created a circle of light around the gazebo. In that yellowed light the falling snowflakes looked like gold dust sifting down from a treasure-filled sky. Gold falling in silence. In private. As each flake of gold settled to the ground, it turned white again, hiding its true nature and value, disguising itself as mere snow. But she knew. She had seen.

“This is mine,” she thought, at once greedy and reverent. “Mine alone.”

1 comment:

daisy said...

What a pretty picture you have painted