Esther lay in bed snuggled under the warmth and comfort of a corduroy quilt, its pounds of weight holding her a willing captive. Muffled by the overnight snow, the world was silent, creating the illusion that the house was wrapped within a cocoon. She burrowed into the feather pillows and pictured the snowflakes floating down blanketing the house, a serene glow of pristine white, drifting and gliding, carpeting the roadways, encasing bushes, shrouding bare tree branches with its lovely lace of chastity. She drifted back to sleep.
A shovel scrapping cement, the unmistaken reminder that life goes on even in winter. Esther slowly awoke, stretched, and glanced at the clock setting by her head. Suddenly, bolting upright she reached for the alarm clock, simultaneously threw the covers from her body, and swung her feet to the floor. Nine o’clock, how could that be? It was only six moments ago. She looked around the room disoriented, the phones lay by her bedside, the paperback had fallen to the floor, beside an empty tumbler sat the youthful face of her mother, smiling. Mother. She had slept through their ritual of exchanging early morning phone calls. Oh, well. Lazily she reached for the Motorola phone and flipped it open. Holding down the number 2 she dragged her free hand over her forehead raking back the strands of hair to lift them from her face and slowly shrunk back into the hollow her body had left in the bed, resting her head on the pillows. No answer. Esther unconsciously tugged the quilt up over her breast and covered her flannel night shirt seeking warmth. Well, it was Monday morning after all. Mondays were mother’s day out, communing with lady friends, sharing events of the weekend, and plotting new adve...
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...on the drain board, a used tea bag embracing its side. Axil threw the light switch and the room was flooded with light. Crossing to the small maple table he picked up a stack of envelopes resting on the napkin holder and discovered each addressed and stamped, December’s bills.
Esther traversed the hallway checking room by room. She gingerly stepped into her mother’s room and disappeared for a moment before emerging with a cell phone in her hand. “Mother’s not here,” she whispered, more in thought than announcement. Purring loudly, a huge orange tabby circled her feet brushing the snow from the hem of her coat. Absently, Esther reached down and scratched it behind the ears. “Admiral, where is mommy?” she asked.
“The garage is empty and it looks like the phone is dead.” announced Axil.
Esther held down the number 3 button and willed her sister to answer.
Ten year old Esther Burr creates a cheerful, reminiscent journal entry describing her day out with her father by using sophisticated word choice and an informal sentence structure. Burr’s purpose is to reveal her adoration for her father with flattering words and to also describe her day with such detail that she won’t forget it. She develops a complimentary tone in order to not only have a good memory of her father later in life, but also to appeal to her mother, who regularly reads her diary.
Susie’s mother opened the door to let Molly, Susie’s babysitter, inside. Ten-month old Susie seemed happy to see Molly. Susie then observed her mother put her jacket on and Susie’s face turned from smiling to sad as she realized that her mother was going out. Molly had sat for Susie many times in the past month, and Susie had never reacted like this before. When Susie’s mother returned home, the sitter told her that Susie had cried until she knew that her mother had left and then they had a nice time playing with toys until she heard her mother’s key in the door. Then Susie began crying once again.
As he slouches in bed, a description of the bare trees and an old woman gathering coal are given to convey to the reader an idea of the times and the author's situation. "All groves are bare," and "unmarried women (are) sorting slate from arthracite." This image operates to tell the reader that it is a time of poverty, or a "yellow-bearded winter of depression." No one in the town has much to live for during this time. "Cold trees" along with deadness, through the image of "graves," help illustrate the author's impression of winter. Wright seems to be hibernating from this hard time of winter, "dreaming of green butterflies searching for diamonds in coal seams." This conveys a more colorful and happy image showing what he wishes was happening; however he knows that diamonds are not in coal seams and is brought back to the reality of winter. He talks of "hills of fresh graves" while dreaming, relating back to the reality of what is "beyond the streaked trees of (his) window," a dreary, povern-strucken, and cold winter.
Gliding over to the kitchen, Minnie continued with her everyday tasks. She began by clearing the table, a task that should have been completed the night before but was left untouched. She put things away one by one and in a quiet manner. She lightly opened and shut the cupboards, placing pots and pans where they belonged, one by one, straight from the table to under the sink. It was cold in that kitchen. Minnie looked out the window to her neighbor’s house. Perhaps today she would go visit; perhaps today she would not.
She imitated Sethe, talked the way she did, laughed her laugh and used her body the same way down to the walk, the way Sethe moved her hands, sighed through her nose, held her head. Sometimes coming upon them making men and women cookies or tacking scraps of cloth on Baby Suggs’ old quilt, it was difficult for Denver to tell who was who. Then the mood changed and the arguments began. Slowly at first. A complaint from Beloved, an apology from Sethe. A reduction of pleasure at some special effort the older woman made. Wasn’t it too cold to stay outside? Beloved gave a look that said, So what? Was it past bedtime, the light no good for sewing? Beloved didn’t move; said, ‘Do it,’ and Sethe complied”
The silence was okay, she could’ve lived with that. But it was the coldness that scared her; the coldness suspended in the air between them: her mommy washing dishes in the kitchen, head bent, hair swooped to the side, hiding her left cheek, and her daddy, sitting on the sofa reading the Sunday paper in silent indifference. She was caught in the middle, with her toys scattered around her, shivering at the coldness of it all. She knew.
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
The falling snow soon covers the irregular jagged surface of the earth and this visual scene is gradually overwhelming the senses and sensitivity as the mind is going in a state of numbness. In such a state of numbness one becomes concerned and confined with ones own self. The poet is trying to find refuge in the lap of nature but the cold whiffs of night seals out his approach. The falling snow has further aggravated the chances of his meeting with nature.
As I walked into the family room, I could feel the gentle heat of the crackling fire begin to sooth my frostbitten cheeks. I plopped myself down on the sofa. The soft cushions felt like heaven to my muscles, sore from building snowmen, riding sleds, and throwing snowballs from behind the impenetrable fort.
...elieved to feel anything again. We stand still only for a moment to see where we have come. Snow covers everything for as far as we can see glistening in afternoon sunlight. We hear the song of a bird and see a red cardinal perched on a blue spruce against a backdrop of blue sky that reaches all the way to the blanket of snow. Becca begins to cry.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
Peter dashed off to set up the tea and Wendy beckoned for Mr. McClean to follow her. She led the way in silence, striding down the hall. The energy-saving lights flickered on one by one as they walked further down the hall. The dim light cast an eerie glow throughout the hall, causing it to look endless. The natural sunlight was obscured by the thick curtains that were tightly covering the windows. Wendy’s footsteps reverberated against the floor with malevolent thumps.
She walked into the hunter=s lodge alone, covered in exotic and rare furs shaking off the snow, feeling her body chilled from the winter winds. As she removed her stoll, she revealed a golden bronze body kissed from the sun that shimmered in the firelight. Her leather corset was cinched tightly at the waist. Her thong was made of the finest deerskin and melted into her like a second skin. It was soft and supple against her toned thighs and smell of the leather aroused her. Her body fevered from the enticing aroma of the soft leather kissing her heated flesh. The snow was still falling outside, the fire crackled in the hearth as it warmed the spiced wine for the guests. As she entered, the room was filled with the essence of desire. This lodge was one of her favorite places in the mountains, especially in winter, offering quiet respite and comfort among the guests.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
She recited the title quietly into the frigid night air, so still, the fog freezing her words lingered in front of her lips long enough her to walk through and dissipate over her shoulder. Though bundled in her formal coat, with the fur muffler and hand-knitted cap that looked so pretty with the crab stitching along the cuff, she didn’t feel the cold any more, she was too old. She hobbled and relied on a cane. Age added a pronounced limp to her gait. Bone rubbing on the bones of once shapely hips that held the knack to switch and bump as she slowly walked, all the while quite aware he stood in the back watching. He existed in her memory. Yet, in her recalling the curious way he crossed his arms and dropped his chin to hide a chuckle as he watched her saunter past, he still caused her to smile.