A Winter Story

And so it was that our hero had finished his finals. He headed down the hall and down the stair towards the exit, pausing only to pull out his iPod and select some music before heading out into the cold, dark night that lay before him. As he took his first few steps out into that night, he noticed it was snowing; this brought a smile to our valiant protagonist's face.

On he walked, barely noticing the cold air around him. He had walked through it before, and was used to the way it felt on his face. He was wearing a jacket, something he did not normally do. He usually finds them to rather bulky and heavy, and often chose to wear a hoodie with a sweater underneath. But that was not to be on this particular occasion. Our brave hero chose to break with tradition for a noble and time-honored reason: pure laziness.

As he listened to the cacophony of noise that poured out of the earbuds and felt the wind on face, the snow lightly falling on his glorious orange hair, he recalled the walk he took a little over a week ago. It was the first major snow that our hero's locale had seen since the previous winter. And he decided to take advantage of it and go on a walk.

You see, our protagonist quite enjoys the winter months. It might be a Chicago thing, it may be a Midwest thing, or perhaps it is that our hero is simply insane. But no matter. The cold does not bother him, though he is aware of its presence, particularly in his fingers and ears. He was raised on the cold, knows how it works. He can tell the difference between a biting cold and a friendly, inviting one. On that particular night our young hero sensed the latter, and walked outside, unsure of what lay in store for him.

The first thing our protagonist notices upon entering the snowy landscape that lay before him was the peace and calm that seemed to enshroud everything. The only noise our dear friend registers is the snow as it piles softly on the ground. This is a sound our hero has often overlooked, and until that moment had not realized how close it resembled the sound of a light rain. Little things such as these can be easily overlooked if one is not careful.

After taking a few seconds to absorb the serenity of the moment, he sets off. Where is he headed? Even he does not know, preferring to be led wherever the winter takes him. He is careful not to walk too fast; he does not want to miss a single moment as he travels along his uncharted journey. He pauses often, looking up at the snow as it falls. It is especially beautiful when viewed against a lamppost or a street light.

What is so intriguing about snow at night? It is hard for our hero to describe. Magical might come close, but he would hate to limit the experience down to a single word. There is a tremendous sense of escape that this experience has for him. Outside there are no worries, no lingering problems. Those remained inside. Out in that snowy night our protagonist is free from all his troubles.

The snow crunches under his feet as he walks along a path, with his footsteps seemingly to be the first to grace that path. But who can be sure? Perhaps another soul wandered along, and perhaps the gently falling snow covered up their prints. Such is the mystical nature of the snow our hero walks on. Soon another soul will come along that same path and find no trace of our hero's prints. Will this person also believe that they are the first to navigate this path?

His steps are uneven, his arms are covered with snow and his fingers are quite cold. But his journey is far from over. He has encountered other signs of life such as a particular pine tree that sticks out in his memory. As he came upon the tree he could see a fine level of snow having settled on the dark green bristles that made up the branches. For some reason this gave our hero great joy. Why? He cannot say.

He also notices rabbit tracks in the freshly fallen snow, another sign of life on his otherwise solitary walk. The tracks appeared as three dots: two side-by-side about two inches apart with a third one centered about three inches to four inches behind the first two, forming a backwards triangle with its points. Our brave protagonist notices these track wherever he goes, observing how the tracks sometimes were made in a zig-zag motion, and another time observing that a rabbit chose to take a ramp rather than stairs.

At one point on his walk, our intrepid explorer comes across one of the makers of those tracks. Our hero is in a woody area, surrounded by trees that went into hibernation long ago. As he slowly travels along the trail, he notices movement to his left. It is a small brown rabbit, who comes to a stop and takes a good look at our friend. The rabbit remains perfectly still, measuring up the tall creature in front of it.

Suddenly, a staring contest is born, and a battle of wills begins. The rabbit looks at the tall creature with its small piercing eyes, still as a statue. Likewise, the tall creature stares back at the rabbit, waiting for it to flinch or show signs of fatigue. Sadly, our hero wind up defeated, and moved on. All is not lost, however, because there is still much for him to see.

Our daring hero moves on, wandering through the woods and past buildings, eventually becoming slightly lost. But no worries. He soon discovers the right path and all is well again. He continues on through the snow, having been walking for over an hour. Is he getting cold? Perhaps a little bit, but he can endure it for a while still. He likes to think he is pretty tough when it comes to combating the elements.

Next on the agenda for him is to begin to head back, but not before taking a slight detour. Call it the scenic route back to his humble abode. He comes across the art building, which houses a structure next to it that is quite unique. Standing at least fifty feet tall is a thin tower that contains dozens of lights, stretching vertically from the top to the bottom. These lights, capable of changing color, shine against the wall of the art building.

The lights constantly shift in color, from a solid strip of red to green to blue to a purple-violet and eventually a rainbow. On their own, the lights are a rather spectacular sight to take in at night. In the snow, the sight is even more breathtaking. The tower illuminates all the falling snow that crosses the paths of the lights it holds within, coloring each snowflake with whatever color happens to hit it.

Our hero stares at this beautiful scene for some time, trying to retain every last bit of wonder it holds. Scenes like this are why our hero has a hard time describing why he likes winter so much. How can our hero put into words an experience so unique it cannot be expressed through any known means? He finds that words are insufficient; they do not do his feelings justice. But he will try to anyway, later on.

After a few minutes our protagonist discovers he is not alone. Coming up to him from across the street is another wandering soul. Introductions are made, names are given and a handshake is shared. Our astute hero quickly comes to the realization that his new friend is rather intoxicated, something the drunk later admits himself. A discussion is held, dominated by the quasi-philosopher who, in his drunken, ineffable wisdom, is transfixed by all the countless forces that led the two of us to meet at this exact spot at this moment in time.

A group of women approach the light tower, determined to take pictures of the scene previously described. Our friend, the drunk philosopher, turns his attention to the fairer sex in an effort to the determine all the forces that led them to that exact spot at that moment in time. Our sly hero took this moment to make his exit and began heading back to the bed that was waiting for him.

The road back, though a short one, was rife with adventure. Snowballs were heaved at our defenseless hero in a surprise attack from some passersby. Do not worry, dear reader, for our brave hero managed to survive the ambush and dodge the onslaught of snowballs that came his way. Moving on, he walked the path he had worn out the last few years, the one back to his home. And as he was walking, he felt that his night was complete.

Until next time, Orange Hat Guy