A Memory in Creative Writing

Thought it would be fun to share this bit of writing I've been polishing. It's one of my favorite childhood memories from a winter in Oregon. Kai is the 'small brother' in the paragraphs. Feel free to comment or critique. I'd appreciate both or either. :)

A Path through the Silvery Woods of Winter

A girl and her small brother depart the warm, cheery glow of their home to venture out into the silvery chill of a winter night. Not a sound may be heard except for the soft crunch of their boots sinking into the snowy whiteness. The moon smiles down upon the tracks behind them - as if these were cherished memories - while their dark silhouettes dance merrily in the soft radiance ahead of them. Many of the trees conceal themselves in the darkness, attempting to cloak their rimy skeletons from passing viewers' eyes. Some trees, however, bedecked in numerous tiny lights, remind the young travelers of long silvery-white fingers littered with webs of fallen stars twinkling in the velvety black night.

While the silvery-white lights remind the children of the joy and excitement awaiting them, the velvety darkness urges them on across the snow. Surely, it is no easy feat for these young ones to trudge through winter’s ivory blanket; the faint grey clouds escaping their mouths at each breath give evidence of their efforts. However, the girl and her brother are well protected from the surrounding chill in their soft, downy jackets and little woolen mittens. Now that they have found another pool of light their thoughts are intent upon their destination.

This pool of light is soon enhanced by another brighter light ahead. Even in that darkness, the children's eyes widen with excitement. Coming to the edge of a little hill, the two travelers gaze down at the highly anticipated scene below them. Trees frame the tiny clearing with their frosty bark, giving way to a gentle slope that opens onto a broad field. During the spring and summer, this field is the gathering place of frolicking foals and vigilant mares, spending their afternoons grazing on the tender grasses and leafy clover. In autumn, the wild and lonely coyote paces the golden-brown fields meditating on the wily, secretive thoughts of his kind. Winter comes and strips the field of her raiment, leaving her desolate and bare. The grey winter sky, pregnant with the gift of first snowfall, takes pity on the bleak range and covers it with a sparkling, crystalline bounty. This is what bids the human eye welcome, and this is how the children now behold it.

            This glittering blanket of snow is not the only welcoming scene to the young beholders; festive crowds have adorned the fence-posts and pines with miniature lights, which seem to wink at the children with thousands of twinkling eyes. Large crimson and emerald globes admire their round figures in the surrounding light as they hang from their designated branches. The spicy smell of cinnamon and the rich scent of chocolate mingle and waft through the wintry air to the children’s tingling noses, beckoning them to join in the merrymaking below. Carolers raise their joyous voices in a chorus of songs that seem to ascend into the inky sky above them and mingle with the stars, creating their own ethereal celebration.

The mirthful mingling of this gathering provides all the necessary allurement for the girl and her small brother. They have eagerly awaited this event, journeying through the frozen wood to participate tonight. Paying no further heed to frost that playfully nips at their rosy noses, they bound away toward the festivities.