The Olive Hill

It was cold day in early November. The low sun colored the old high school walls with faint yellow. Was it August, the sun would have vapored the decayed paints of those walls. Students however, sat or stood where the low November sun shone. They acted like flies.
Was it fall, was it winter, was it spring, was it summer, Fairuz would sit beneath the shades of the old olive tree. The sun did indeed penetrate the cloud of leaves the old olive tree have. However, the invasion was incomplete, as the shade of the leaves, and the scattered sun light turned Fairuz into a cheetah.
Fairuz Lakhdar, however, did not care about this two thousand year old conflict. She was listening to Rouh el Hajjala. A jazz band from Ben Arous. She liked their fast rhythm and enjoyed seeing the students at the recess turn into wooden cubes and form a tornado. They became a zarboot . The zarboot soon returned to be a wooden cubes tornado then students leaving the sunny spots. Fairuz pulled the headphone from its soil. The black screen reflected her face as if it was the surface of a pond. A rounded face, a short black hair that almost showed her ears, a rosy skin, and what seemed to be the facial features of a roman statue (two brown galaxies, not two grey voids). She threw the headphone into the depths of her jeans pocket and conducted herself to the classroom.
"When would spring come? ˮ She murmured.