What Do You Have To Say? - A Winter Memory
It was three o'clock in the morning on November 30th. The snow had fallen earlier that day, so the night was brighter than usual-- the moon had set, but the stars made pinholes through the sky. The crisp scent of freshly fallen snow stung my nostrils and made my lungs burn. My stolen cafeteria tray in my hands, I trudged through the eight inches of freezing cold powder to Hoyme Hill. Hearing the drunken screams of sledders ahead, I rolled my eyes in frustration: I would have to find somewhere else to go. Turning around and walking through the yet-to-be plowed sidewalks, I realized I could no longer feel my toes. I stopped, and looked around-- the barren branches, the white snow, the orange lights guiding my way-- and gave it all up, went back to my dorm, and fixed myself some hot chocolate. As I reveled in the warm, sweet taste, I watched boys playing snow football outside my window. I don't know how to sneak my tray back into the cafeteria.