Meadow

I love winter. I love the quiet, I love how clean it seems, I love that it’s like a new start every year. But mostly, I love the quiet. Everything just seems to settle down in the cold months. The snow sparkles and makes everything seem brighter. And the ice that forms on the tree branches looks so pretty, like crystals that someone came out and hung up for decoration the night before. It’s all so beautiful.

But I can tell this place in the summer time is beautiful too. I can almost picture the wide swath of land full of lush grasses, shady trees and colorful wildflowers. Although I love the snow, the quiet, my body craves sunlight and warmth. I wasn’t made to live in the cold, although I think I could stomach it for the peace and quiet year-round. Sooner or later, I’d miss the sun, the heat, the flowers... I even do like the ocean, noise and all.

My ear swivels in his direction, but I keep my gaze straight ahead, taking in the empty meadow in front of me. I listen to what he is saying, catching myself nodding along and agreeing with him, surprising myself. If I am being honest, I am quick to judge, to jump to conclusions, before getting to know someone. I can usually get a good reading on a person just by watching them, thus saving me the problem of having to actually speak to someone. Investing energy into someone who in the long run will just let you down is exhausting. And now I seldom speak, unless spoken too.

I didn’t think I would have anything in common with this guy; the way he had approached me in the field, assuming I wanted company... But I had followed him on my own accord and now that he’s broken the silence that has enveloped the world inside my head for that last few days, I find myself... I don’t know... Intrigued?

”Almost like a new start, a clean slate,” I say in response, my voice hoarse after being unused for so long. I stop walking and stare at the untouched field, the silence growing again. It strikes me that I should say something, add to the conversation he’s trying to have with me. But I stay quiet, letting the silence brew again. ‘I’m not great with conversation’ is what I should say. ‘Small talk gives me anxiety’ is another thing I should add. But I don’t.

Story of my life.