From the Archives

The heat from the wood stove became a state of unbearable torture.  As I opened the door to the house the wind carried it smashing fiercely and it flung all the way open. A Gust of wind wrinkled my pajamas and I noticed a slight dampness on my feet.  It was sprinkling very lightly, just enough for me to notice.  I began to walk away when something drew me back to the doorway, back to where the safeness and the dread of night meet. It was a strange sound like something or someone crinkling and rattling in the distance.  It was a deep soft sound.  I realize it is only the plastic we have over our wood to keep it dry moving in the wind.

The pitter patter of the rain sprinkling softly on our doormat sent a sudden shiver down my aching back and as I gazed into the dark outside I noticed the fog moving through the trees.  Fog so mysterious, so complex but yet with nothing at all to tell.

I decided to leave my doorway between cozy and cold to retire to my bedroom with a smile on my face knowing the world is full of wonders just waiting for me to discover.

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Written by me when I was in the 9th grade and we were living on the Russell Farm in Minnesota.

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