A New Beginning (p4)

Chapter 4.
It was a cold afternoon, the wind whipping the trees. The white snowflakes gently, pouring out of the darkened, winter sky. My purple dress flowing with every take of the wind, and my boots crunching against the iced snowflakes. My hair swiftly blows around my head, causing my fingers to reach out and pull my hair back. The woods, looking so dark and mysterious come to me with a sense of hope for my helpless and depressing life. Only being 13 years old and having experiences that usually happen when someone is 25, but my mother always says that is the way of life and to deal with it.

My hazel eyes peering into the woods only to find it covered with white banks of snow, and birds flying from tree to tree with warmth. I walk into the woods slowly, but calmly, making sure my surroundings aren't harsh or dangerous in a way I might become injured. The grey and black squirrels attempt to savage for leftover nuts and acorns for a meal. The clouds in the sky move every time I look up. My ghostly white legs have become even colder now, forcing me to walk back home. Crossing the windy and sandy beach that allows my home to be in view again. The house painted in a brown color is noticed yet now covered with snow. The beach, the water feeling as cold as Alaskan sea waters and ice. It touches my fingers yet causes me to shiver and quickly back up onto the safe sidewalk, leading to the nearby streets. My paved sidewalk to my front door has been hidden by layers of white, barley being able to notice the flower beds to my right and left sides. The front door has a red color paint to it, with a bronze colored door handle.
My father before he left us painted the entire house, so now every time I walk up to the front door it reminds me of him painting the door with even strokes. Me holding the paint bucket up to him, and keeping a steady hand holding the ladder for a higher painting status. He used to always ask me to help him, while Sarah Anne would help my mother inside with chores, like washing dishes, or dusting. Sarah Anne loved to dust and wash with my mother, every Sunday after church. We would all come home and begin our daily chores, then having a family picnic on the beach, coming home and admiring our work. Every day I wish that my father had stayed with us even after Sarah Anne's death, he was part of the family, and still is in my heart.

long one!