It's still cold, but not as frigid as Wednesday was. The snow fall became a raging storm the night that Thomas and Matt left us, leaving our grieving little group worried sick. My heart stormed all night in chorus with the moaning wind. The next morning, the storm had passed leaving several inches of fresh white snow on the ground. My insides were left empty and dark, no blanket of peaceful white in exchange for my mourning. I've only seen snow a few times in my life. If I hadn't been in the depths of depression that day, I'm sure I would've enjoyed it. I heard the other kids in town went sled riding down the big hill behind the old Elementary school. None of them had sleds, but that didn't stop them. They made due with garbage can lids and flattened cardboard boxes. Aunty told me that Tim was there, too, forsaking his responsible-old-man behavior to play with the rest of the kids. That snowy night is just a pleasant memory for the rest of the town; but I find myself still lost in the stormy haze.
