Spring is finally starting to come back. A few trees are starting to bloom in soft delicate colors—most still lie in dormitory, bare skeletons scratching at the air. Their perfume drifts in the air barely noticeable. The weeping willows I love so much are waving to me in the cool breeze. Above me geese are squawking, as they return to their old mating grounds to begin to the process of birth over again. Other birds flit from tree to tree chirping words I can’t understand. It is the time of new beginnings.
Yet, here I sit on the sun warmed rocks casting my forlorn gaze into the gurgling stream. The crystal clear water easily flows over or around obstacles that get in the way—I’m jealous of its ease to do so. Sunlight dances on the rippling surface, making the water appear crystalline. It’s still too cold to dip my childish feet into the liquid crystal rapids, so I contempt myself by gazing at its beauty. Little brown fish glide among the rocks, but flinch away at my movements—they see me as a threat.
I probably should have put some sunscreen on my pale pinky flesh, but didn’t think I’d be sitting here for so long. My arms burn in the heat and I most likely could melt chocolate on my hair—though the heat now matches the color of it. Nature holds me where I am; there is no point in resisting what Mother Nature wants—I still try though. I just can’t abandon the comfort and familiarity of this place, even though I knew it was burning me.
I don’t know how long I’ve sat here, but the white fluffy clouds are starting to turn grey. They slowly swallow the light of the sun, casting everything in a shade of dull darkness. The water looks inky and dirty now, its crystalline brilliance gone. Cold winds rustle the wild grasses around me, raising bumps up and down my arms. Birds stop their singing as they settle on skeletal branches, intently watching the sky be overtaken by the grey overcast. The clouds have taken the source of my pain away.
Will the heavens cry for me?
The Outlet 