literature

The Winter Wind

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Literature Text

The Winter Wind
       
       There is a cool rain beneath these clouds of mine. Where the wind blows it’s mists upon my soft face. And each and every drop is an idea of where my mind does lay. Whether it is depressed or happy, confused or infinite in its wisdom. Constantly assessing the world around it, my mind can be a crazy storm of an entity, just hoping for the right soul to soothe the savage beast. And though the sun does come out to shine, it is most comforted by the rain and the thick grey clouds of an Irish morn. A person can easily hide, blend in, when the world is whipping around you and the fog has rolled into pasture. So, “wrap your wool coat around your frail form” the winter wind say, “adorn your delicate hands with warm mittens, “ and hold tight. “A storm’s a comin, and you most of all can when it’s fight.” If only preparation could make that pit in your stomach fade away, if only a warm wool coat could solve all of your problems? Even in that abrasive walk to the top of the hill, she knows she will make it. But why, is it for the sheer fight of it, no, maybe just the view. Oh, what a feeling it is to know, to see, to feel the beauty of the world. To touch, the untouched, and change, the unchanged. She will not give up, after all of this, how can she? Each rain drop goes from cool to coarse as more steps are taken. The elevation does not make the rain any less beautiful, but more abrasive to feel. And when she reaches the top, delicate snow will await. It is as if the winter wind and her have an understanding, that if she can withstand his harsh nature, he will allow her to pass through him untouched. Every hard layer, has a soft one underneath, like thick drapes pulled away to let the sun peek through. She can feel the warmth of it, the contrast between light and dark. And at the top of the hill now, she no longer feels the cold, only the light flakes of snow upon her face. A moment of which she has waited her entire life for, to conquer her winter wind. Everything is very still, so quieted by the blanket of white, she is alone now. The winter wind has stopped it’s fight, and there is a calm of which she has never felt before. A calm that allows her to survey her surroundings, to see the world in it’s entirety. But the snow will cease, and when it does she will walk back down to the grass covered pastures, warm wool coat and mittens in toe,  with only a memory of this life’s lesson to soothe her pain. For when you love something, you must set it free.
umm.....just a lot of ideas compiled in a creative way.
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