So on LJ they have these "Wrtier's Block" prompts every day. Today's was "Write a winter memory using all of the five senses." So I did this, though I didn't use a real memory, just kind of a winter scene....thing that I made up. Here ya go:
The cold air cut through my hooded sweater and poked at my bones as I walked down the sidewalk through town. I took in another breath and smiled softly at the scent of everyone's wood stoves burning at full capacity, watching the little puff of frost form as I exhaled. The sun had not quite gone down yet, but the ground had that eerie bright grey glow about it from the snow clouds above, and most of the people were already in their houses. It was the second day of the snow storm, and while not a lot of it had actually layed on our warm grounds, it was damn near impossible to go across the white mountains and into the next town for groceries. Now that our small stores had been ransacked of all their milk and bread, most people were content to sit in their living rooms. I, on the other hand, continued my walk. The only sound acompaning the "whoosh" of my long pantlegs dragging in the snow was the hush of frozen flakes landing on the newly salted road.
I hunched over with my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie as I crossed over the railroad tracks and kept an eye out for the evil chickens that lived on the camp ground. They didn't have enough sense to stay out of the cold weather, much like myself, however they wouldn't hesitate to chase me if I was within view. Luckily for me they must have been terrorizing some poor, defensless camper. Finally I came to the bridge that went over the French Broad. I walked out until I was standing somewhere near the middle of the water and looked out to see the waters winding through the mountains. The waters around the rocks and along the banks has already frozen over and snow was beginning to settle on the small ice islands. I brushed the snow off of the railing and leaned my elbows against it, not careing about the wet spots that formed on my sleeves, and simply watched the ice. The river smelled different during this time of year. During the summer it had a scent of decay- leaving the taste of something like swamp water on your mouth when you breathed. But when it snowed it seemed to wash that away and all you could smell was wood burning in the distance. I looked from side to side, just to be sure that I really was the only one out and about, and seeing that I was alone I stuck out my tongue and caught a few snowflakes.
Smiling, I put my hands back into my front pocket and headed home.