"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


            Laughter drifted past his window. Glancing up from the tome currently in his lap, his eyes returned to the sentence he had been reading; starting over because of the distraction. Another chortle, this time louder. Setting his book aside, he got up and moved to the wall. Climbing on his stool, he peered out the circular window. A short finger pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses as he saw in the distance, people. They were having a snowball fight in the meadow he called his home. It was a morning where fog hung in the trees and fresh snow crunched under boots.
            Smiling, he observed them frolic, the children pulling a sled as they crossed the clearing. It had otherwise been untouched by humans; he’d been the one to cast the spell to bring forth the chill and flurries. His entire job was winter. Dropping off his stool, he navigated around the volumes stacked about his floor. The clouds were already starting to lift, which was not in his plans for the weather. Kneeling before the fire, he inhaled deeply before blowing across the burning logs. He watched the flames tremble and grow. Returning to the window, he could see the fog from his fireplace already starting to add to the clouds above.
            There would be more snowfall, sometime in the darkness of the midnight hour. Adjusting his spectacles for the twentieth time that day—an item he did regret purchasing from a store in the sporadic ventures into the human world—he took his hat off the shelf by the door and stepped outside. Pulling his door tightly behind him, he crossed his arms and watched the youngsters play. They were nearly across his meadow now, making their way towards the sledding hill that lay beyond. Winter knew they couldn’t see him, or know that the massive oak tree was his home.
            With his three months soon drawing to a close, he would have to bid farewell to the frozen wonderland he had created and watch Spring enjoy her time creating blossoms and warming the world before the sweltering summer days arrived. The next few weeks were his last chances to share the beauty of snow with his meadow and wait for another year.


  1. Absolutely beautiful. There's some really vivid imagery in this piece. As usual, your writing leaves me hungry for more. Write on!


  2. Man, I love the way you reveal information in this! Okay, so, I'm patently biased towards writing styles that drop you in and let you figure out to some degree.
    This does that in the most perfectly casual way. And the effect is great: intimacy where there should be otherness, quiet where there should be initial trepidation. I love it! Nicely done!