Creative Writing

Frosted Windows

It's very cold outside, oh so very

Cold outside. I dare not look at the temperature

Until we reach our final destination.

Despite my headphones and books,

I find myself only capable of looking out,

Looking out these frosted windows,

And wondering what else life has to offer.

Trees, trees, oh so many trees.

Why are there so many trees?

I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but

I'm just wondering why. How life

Is like these forests of trees.

There are so many people, yet who

Dareth cut just one down? Even

Worse still, I know not how, but

In amongst these trees, you find

So much solitude. Why is life

Torn between feeling like a tree

In a forest of trees and a single

Tree on a hill, a lonely tree with

Nothing but its own solitude? Surely,

There's more to life than that.

As for me, I'm in a car full of

People, and I've never felt more alone

In my life. The car is dead silent, except

The sound of the wind outside and

Occasional noises from the engines.

Oh so many trees. And still, every

Once and a while, a sign of human

Life. A light off in the forest, illuminating

A house, a road, a backyard workshop

Where the people are doing God knows what.

Are they fixing cars, dismembering bodies,

Or just playing with their kids when it's

Nice out? Finally, not just trees but

A meadow of sorts. I wonder what

Creatures call these places home.

Birds, deer, mice, all sorts of odds

And ends creatures. Mice are cute.

You'd be amazed how different

This landscape will look in just

A few months' time. For now, it is

February, and everything is dead,

But by May, these trees will be

Full of luxurious foliage, leaves of the

Brightest green that, if you state

Long enough and are observant

Enough, will make you feel as if you're

In another world. The grass, too, will

Change, morphing from a dry, crackly,

Yellowish-brown death that it is into

A dark emerald green, worthy of the

Gods of old. We're passing more and

More houses now. Most of the lights

Used to illuminate them are old and

Have that reddish-orange color to them

That invokes some sense of ancient

Beings, like only in this light can certain

Things reside, not like the new lights that

Some of them have, the bright white that

Penetrates all shadows. Despite the sun

Rising soon, and the skies changing

From darkness to a dark grey-blue,

The window seems more frosted than

Ever now. Or was it more frosted before,

Just I couldn't see it in the darkness?

Alas, tis life. For some things are worse

Than they seem, unable to show their

Wretchedness until light is thrust upon them.