Looking outside the window at the skeletal trees brings an
understanding shiver that winter is getting ready to lay its
icy grip on the land. The sun looks so warm and inviting, but
outside the crisp chill stings sharply, so you hide within
your heated haven, primal instincts urging you to sleep till
it is warm again. The coffee maker has stopped its whooshing
sounds, and you pour a cup of the steaming liquid, tossing in
a careless spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk. A hasty
stir blends it perfectly as you retreat to the warmth and
softness of the overstuffed chair in the corner of the living
room, curling your legs underneath you, sipping through the
steam the luxurious caffeine that will keep you from slipping
into hibernation. The comfort here is good, and the greenery
that surrounds you in hanging pots, and planters neatly
terraced on the floor, reminds you that there is survival from
the cold within these walls. Close your eyes to a slit, and
remember the sand on the beach, with the sun beaming down from
overhead, warming you. You sit there, knees bent, digging your
toes through the soft, warm sand, no expression showing on
your face to let on to anyone the bliss you feel inside. The
wind blows in from the ocean with the waves, carrying the soft
piercing cries of the seagulls. How you admire their freedom!
Soaring on the salty winds, their cries echo softly, blending
in nice contrast with the deep rushing sound of the waves. You
could sit like that for hours, through the sunset, till the
moon casts its reflection lighting the caps of the breaking
waves, creating a twilight masterpiece. But summer has gone,
and you open your eyes to winter life contained within four
walls, feel the cutting shortness of your freedom like an icy
blade through your heart.