COMM 111: Grey

Michelle Sego

COMM 111—Writing for Communication

Brother Hicks


Weekly #2 Observation and Description


The Breeze is cool here. The sky is crisp and blue, like the ocean on a warm day.  The chains clang and the bars squeak as I swing back and forth.  The ground is frozen.  Ice surrounds my feet.  It sparkles against the sun beams.  There’s nothing but pure silence.  It engulfs me and warms my soul to the core.  The cold bites at my cheeks and leaves a kiss of pink.  The sun and the clear drops of water smell of the earth.  Sunshine and spring dwindle in the air.  Hopes of warmer days and summer submerge stranger’s minds.  Sunny and clear, the day couldn’t be any better. 


Walking, laughing, care free voices come together.  The voices echo off the wind.  The sun becomes shy, and slowly sulks away.  The chill starts to weigh heavy, like being crushed beneath a blanket of ice.  The kiss becomes a blade that drags across my skin.  Shadows replace the snow’s sparkle.  The blue ocean sky becomes a faded gray.  There’s no grass, no flowers; just snow and ice that has turned to gray mush.  The voices fade away, until there’s nothing but silence once again.  Thoughts of spring and summer diminish along with the sun and sky. 


The shadows have set.  It smells of mud and winter; white and gray like clouds in a storm.  It’s peaceful here.  There are no distractions, just silence.  The gray lingers in the air like a thick fog.  It’s too cold to sit in peace.  The chains wobble as I stand two feet on the frozen ground.  The crunch of the snow beneath my boots ricochets.  This place is full of childhood memories of those who have passed through.  What is now cold and empty will soon be filled with light and playfulness.  Summer will come once again and fill this place with its love light. The sights around me are crisp and clear.  This place is a winter wonderland.  There are trees that sway side to side, as if they were breathing.  The snow lightly falls from the branches.  Little flakes of ice float to the ground like little puffs of fluff.   They swirl in the wind; wild, wicked swirls.  They’re bewitched by magic.


 As I step upon the rigid icy stones the clouds above loom closer.  The sky becomes darker and the pathway merges with the shadows.  The air is thin.  White snow leaves a guiding path of light.  The chains of the swing ring in the distance as the wind lightly blows through.  The path of ice and shadows lead me to the crescendo of voices.  Wisps of snow flow behind me.  Each step is a new storm.  Darkness has followed my feet down the path.  The meadow of snow and ice is now behind me; but I will return once again to my playground, when summer peaks around the corner.


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