Drove up to the cabin. How I loved that place. So many memories, the anticipation grew and grew as we drove up that crooked road. A flashback to winters past overtook me.
I was four or five and it had just snowed the night before. The place was covered in a soft wet sheet and our eager little hands were anxious to cop a feel. We began the process of getting dressed for the snow. Layers on layers, we didnt need them. The cold never lasted that long. It would burn and numb our little bodies until we no longer felt any of it. It began in the hands, always the hands. There it would spread through the body in a wave of chills. The whole process took less than a few minutes. There was no escaping the cold and no reason to want to. It was the cold that made us feel alive. But we dressed anyway to please our mother.
Dressed and ready for anything, thats how we left. Wobbling out the door and into the world. The air was crisp and refreshing. A faint smell of smoke added texture. It was quiet but every now and than you would hear the call of some bird signaling to another that winter was now official. Everything looked new, cloaked in a clean sheet of white. It was a blank sheet of paper. Our little feet left words.
We knew what to do. We hurried over to the shed to fetch our tools for the day. The top of a trashcan is all we required. We began to trek up the hill on the other side of the cabin. Little puffs of heat protruded from are mouths. In and out, in and out our breath was heavy from the work. The work of moving are little legs up a hill that didnt seem so steep when we began. Weighed down by the layers of our mothers love.
Ah, the top. Now the day would begin. We ran and jumped, throwing the lid under our tiny bottoms. Hurling ourselves down the hill, the wind bit our faces. Our laughter broke the silence of the morning. A feeling of flight had taking hold of our bodies. Speeding down the hill, our minds clocked it at a million miles per hour. And when the bottom was finally reached we began the cycle again. Top to the bottom, this was our day.
It was around my tenth or eleventh time attempting to fly. It started like all before. Running and jumping, throwing my little body into flight. All the while butterflies flapped happily in my stomach. But this time I wished to own the hill. I wanted to put it in my pocket and show my friends. See, I would say, look what I did! They would all look up to me. I would be hero for the day. Headfirst was the only way the hill could be purchased. I ran and jumped, landing on my stomach knocking the air and fear out of my little body. At some point during my journey down the hill I fell off course unnoticed. To tell you the truth I didnt even see it coming. BAMSMACK! My little head was run right into an old oak tree. The hill didnt wish to be owned by a little boy, at least not that day.
Everything after that is blurry. I cried, I know that much. I cried because my head hurt. I cried because my neck hurt. I cried because my back hurt. I cried because my pride hurt. No worries though because in the end the hospital wasnt that bad, the visits to chiropractor didnt hurt me too much, and my pride, it learned a lesson.
A little boy can never own a hill.
I was four or five and it had just snowed the night before. The place was covered in a soft wet sheet and our eager little hands were anxious to cop a feel. We began the process of getting dressed for the snow. Layers on layers, we didnt need them. The cold never lasted that long. It would burn and numb our little bodies until we no longer felt any of it. It began in the hands, always the hands. There it would spread through the body in a wave of chills. The whole process took less than a few minutes. There was no escaping the cold and no reason to want to. It was the cold that made us feel alive. But we dressed anyway to please our mother.
Dressed and ready for anything, thats how we left. Wobbling out the door and into the world. The air was crisp and refreshing. A faint smell of smoke added texture. It was quiet but every now and than you would hear the call of some bird signaling to another that winter was now official. Everything looked new, cloaked in a clean sheet of white. It was a blank sheet of paper. Our little feet left words.
We knew what to do. We hurried over to the shed to fetch our tools for the day. The top of a trashcan is all we required. We began to trek up the hill on the other side of the cabin. Little puffs of heat protruded from are mouths. In and out, in and out our breath was heavy from the work. The work of moving are little legs up a hill that didnt seem so steep when we began. Weighed down by the layers of our mothers love.
Ah, the top. Now the day would begin. We ran and jumped, throwing the lid under our tiny bottoms. Hurling ourselves down the hill, the wind bit our faces. Our laughter broke the silence of the morning. A feeling of flight had taking hold of our bodies. Speeding down the hill, our minds clocked it at a million miles per hour. And when the bottom was finally reached we began the cycle again. Top to the bottom, this was our day.
It was around my tenth or eleventh time attempting to fly. It started like all before. Running and jumping, throwing my little body into flight. All the while butterflies flapped happily in my stomach. But this time I wished to own the hill. I wanted to put it in my pocket and show my friends. See, I would say, look what I did! They would all look up to me. I would be hero for the day. Headfirst was the only way the hill could be purchased. I ran and jumped, landing on my stomach knocking the air and fear out of my little body. At some point during my journey down the hill I fell off course unnoticed. To tell you the truth I didnt even see it coming. BAMSMACK! My little head was run right into an old oak tree. The hill didnt wish to be owned by a little boy, at least not that day.
Everything after that is blurry. I cried, I know that much. I cried because my head hurt. I cried because my neck hurt. I cried because my back hurt. I cried because my pride hurt. No worries though because in the end the hospital wasnt that bad, the visits to chiropractor didnt hurt me too much, and my pride, it learned a lesson.
A little boy can never own a hill.