The Moment // O Momento

Something told me. He's here.

I flew down the stairs and out the door. He was close, I knew he was. My mom called after me, but I hardly heard. She was drowned out by the voice drumming in my head, He's here, he's here. He's close, he's here.

I ran to the end of our driveway and down the old dirt road. It stopped into pavement before too long, diving beneath the hard black surface, creating a T with the yellow lines fading down the middle of the modern road. I could see headlights. It's him, he's here. For once the voices were welcome.

I waited by the stop sign, anxiously patient. I peered through the windows as the car got closer, trying to see in, somehow knowing but still wondering. The sun was low, peeping over the hills in the background, lighting the world just enough to send it to sleep. I slowly realized all at once the icy cold seeping through my soles; in my hurry I'd run all this way barefoot in the snow, wearing only my short-sleeved pajamas. I didn't mind. He's here.

The car slowed as it crept closer. It finally pulled round the corner and stopped in front of me. A man stepped out in full uniform. I stood tall just above his waist. I stared at his belt for the longest second of my life, the moment my heart stopped time. I raised my eyes to his face, suddenly scared to trust my eyes or the voices, the moment that didn't exist. I looked into his smiling eyes. It's him.

He knelt down and held his arms out to me. Next thing I knew I was in his arms, the moment the world was still.

Algo me disse. Ele está aqui.

Desci as escadas e saiu pela porta. Ele estava perto, eu sabia que ele era. Minha mãe me chamou, mas eu quase não ouvi. Ela foi abafada pelo rufar voz na minha cabeça, Ele está aqui, ele está aqui. Ele está perto, ele está aqui.

Corri para o final do nosso caminho e pela estrada de terra antiga. Ele parou na calçada antes de muito tempo, o mergulho sob a superfície dura preta, criando um T com as linhas amarelas desvanecem no meio da estrada moderna. Eu podia ver os faróis. É ele, ele está aqui. Pela primeira vez, as vozes eram bem-vindos.

Esperei pelo sinal de parada, ansiosamente paciente. Olhei através das janelas quando o carro se aproximou, tentando ver em, de alguma forma saber, mas ainda se perguntando. O sol estava baixo, olhando ao longo dos montes no fundo, iluminando o mundo apenas o suficiente para enviá-lo para dormir. Eu lentamente percebeu tudo de uma vez o frio gelado que escoa através de minhas solas; Na minha pressa eu ia correr todo esse caminho descalço na neve, usando apenas o meu pijama de manga curta. Eu não me importava. Ele está aqui.

O carro diminuiu, uma vez que se arrastou mais perto. Ele finalmente se ao virar da esquina e parou na minha frente. Um homem saiu de uniforme completo. Eu estava logo acima de sua espera. Olhei para sua cintura para o segundo mais longo da minha vida, o momento meu coração parou tempo. Ergui os olhos para o seu rosto, de repente, com medo de confiar em meus olhos, nem as vozes, o momento em que não existia. Olhei em seus olhos sorridentes. É ele.

Ajoelhou-se e estendeu is braços para min. A próxima coisa que eu sabia que eu estava em seua braços, o momento em que o mundo ainda era.

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Frosty Thoughts

Last night on the way home from church (an approximately 25-minute drive), I didn't read (no flashlight) and I didn't play my iPad (I was kinda tired anyway). I just lay back on the slightly reclined seat and thought and looked out the window.

My mind must have been feeling writerish because I came up with the line, "The day is dawning on the bright silver moon." Unfortunately, that doesn't exactly make sense. Fortunately, I was in a thinking mood and this created a problem in need of a solution. So I thought about it. I was determined to either make it make sense or think of a way to change a word or two while keeping the rhythm and idea of the original words.

Not long thereafter, I came up with a different kind of line, though very similar. Rather than a simple author's description of the beginning of the day -- or night, as I can't honestly be sure. I may find a way for that line to make sense at some time in the future -- rather than a simple author's description, I turned it into a first-person view of the sunrise. I wrote (or thought), "Day is dawning over the glassy silver lake."

When I thought of a glassy silver lake, the lake in Rise of the Guardians came to mind. As soon as that happened, I became Jack's sister standing beside the lake as the sun was coming up...which became a book with lots of ideas and an end and a...theme, I suppose...though not an actual plot...or maybe I do have a plot. I'm not really sure what it should be called, the theme/plot I mentioned.

So, new book!

That's all I'll say for now, except that it's going to be written in first-person with a single point of view, Jack's sister's (yet unnamed). I'm not quite sure of the genre yet.

          

Barefoot in the Snow

"Though spring has sprung, I'm still walking barefoot in the snow."

                                                                                                         ~ Jessie, 11 March 2014

This awesomely real winter of 2013-2014 has, as you may or may not know, been quite the snow season, unlike the past few winters, so-called.

It started with some snow. Then we got some more. And then we got a huge snowstorm, and then more snow again. It simply kept on coming. It was even forecasted that we'd get thundersnow! As in, snow with thunder and lightning. Which excited me beyond belief, of course, as this particular winter was already too good to be true, especially after the aforementioned preceding "winters." But I mean, can it get any better than snow and thunder and lightning?

My hopes were dashed when I awoke unpleasantly early the next morning (the storm was forecasted to be between 6 and 9) to view the very looked-forward-to thundersnow and, alas, none came. Too good to be true, indeed. There was, however, plenty of snow that day, and so my broken heart was soothed. (Yes, that was a bit exaggerated but I couldn't help it, it sounded so nice.)

I've only just gotten back on the blogger after quite a while. What sparked this sudden rebound was talking with a friend and getting excited about writing again and checking out her blog for the first time in a long time. I must say, I find said blog exquisitely fascinating and also quite captivating. (Also gripping, enthralling, absorbing, engrossing, spellbinding, riveting, arresting, intriguing, compelling. But enough of that, lest I embarrass the poor girl.)

Moving on. To continue with my narrative, there was much snow this winter. Despite it not having snowed in a while now, there is still quite a lot of snow and ice covering yards and driveways, particularly where it was piled out of the way during shoveling exercises. Being thus, though spring has indeed begun to...well, spring, and our driveway has for the most part thawed to gravel and mud, there is plenty of snow left on and in which to walk. 

I, being myself, choose to walk barefoot (as always) on the snow. Simply because I am myself and I love snow and I will cherish its company up until the very last tiny patch of snow has melted.

We had some friends over on Tuesday. They came to crochet. Now, I know how to crochet. In fact, I taught my sisters and my mom how to do it. However, though I'll admit it can be addicting once begun, I'm not a huge fan. Also, I didn't seem to be needed at the time. Meanwhile, Dad has arrived home from work (this is around 2pm) and has since been washing our vehicles. I go down to help. By the time I arrive on the scene, Dad has finished washing his pick-up and has just begun the family minivan.

The point of stating any and all of the preceding paragraph is to say this: as I'm working, I insist on walking only on the frozen snow piles whenever possible. It is spring weather outside but my feet are pleasantly freezing. At times, I do step on the gravel and in the puddles and the mud. While this is taking place, I'm thinking. Obviously. Anyway, something I end up thinking of is what would normally become a Facebook status. What I'm referring to is the quote you read up at the very beginning of this post.

Now, I'm thinking, thinking, thinking. (Of course I'm thinking; I'm a reader, and a reader whose writer's mind has recently been brought again to vibrant life.) All day, I'm thinking. Reading the Anne-girl's blog has put in my head that perhaps I could create a blog and keep up with it.

I already have a blog, you say? Yes, the literature blog. A literature blog is different and easy in that you simply post literature whenever you happen to like it. A movie quote here, an original poem here, a short story every now and then; some song lyrics and short ramblings.

No, I wanted a blog. A writer's blog, to be more specific. Much like Anne-girl's Scribblings. This, Barefoot in the Snow, is what I have come up with.

I know I've been rambling a bit -- okay, a lot -- along the way and I'm sure you're all wondering where I'm going with all this talk of snow and winter. The point is this: I came up with the title of "Barefoot in the Snow" from my quote. It jumped into my head and shortened itself, and it wouldn't go away. Which is okay. In fact, you might say I had a title before a had an idea, and my title needed a blog; as I've said, a writer's blog.

So there you are. My hope is that anyone who has the irritating misfortune to stumble upon this, my soul's internet dwellingplace, shall find something to their liking. Thanks for visiting and I pray you relish my ramblings, however jumbled and disjointed.