ok, guys. i hope some of you are my peeps from cause you know i love you guys. so hey to you guys n all the new guys i dont know. but okz, basically this is a creative piece i did for my english class that i really liked. so i put it up here and if you steal it i will hunt you down. hahaha, ok, ill stop rambling now.

There is always something special about that first snowfall. The way the first white flakes fell lazily to the hard ground which had waited so long for a white blanket to snuggle in. There is nothing better than waking up in the morning on that first truly cold day, to open you window and then you see the whole world outside covered in shimmering snow. There is nothing better to pull on your boots, shove your hands into an old pair of mittens, thrust a hat over your ears, and shrug your jacket on over your pajamas just so you could make the first imprint on the world with your one foot.

Like many things in life, that first step is the hardest. Who could disturb such a pristine setting? We’ve all seen the same setting days later, snow tracks and dirt ruining the once almost holy sight. If we take that first step, didn’t we create the finish product? But if we don’t take that first step, if we vainly protect what we know to be good, what is the point of rushing out so early in the morning in the first place?

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Riley sat behind the counter of Clark’s Corner Coffeehouse and pushed her dark bangs off her face with a sigh; this was the girl that you certainly knew. She was the quiet one who sits in math class with an ever contemplative look in her muddy green eyes. She was the one who you’d glance at now and then and realize that for her to doodle during a trigonometry lesson she must be exceptionally smart. And as you assumed she was exceptionally bright, you’d try and sneak a peak at whatever she kept covering her hand whenever the teacher walked by-a Van Gogh for sure. But then you’d settle down from her across the room in art class, and see her hand flying across a scrap piece of paper. And only a true poet would be captivated by the musty smell of old paint. Only a true poet could write something so marvelous about that to tuck it in her pocket for later. So then you were left with a few options; was she a writer, an artist, a brain child or what? She wasn’t your everyday jock, she wasn’t your everyday cheerleader, she wasn’t your everyday actor, she wasn’t your everyday brooding depressionist or your everyday computer geek. Riley was the girl no one really knew but thought they did and thus she remained undefined. She herself always just saw herself as just being there.

Scribbling a few lines on a napkin, Riley let the aromas in the coffee house wash over her. Clark’s, on the other hand, was your typical family owned business, situated fittingly in a small town, and everyone who was baptized by the bell above the door was a welcome member. There was the plushy couch in one corner and the plushy-seated chairs around every table and the classic wall of coffee beans behind the counter running along the length of the shop was a must. As the bell above the door welcomed a new customer, Riley quickly dropped the pen in her hand and flipped the napkin over, and pushed it to the side so her handwriting was hid from the world.

Waiting patiently for the man on the welcome mat to finish brushing off the snow that rested on his shoulders, Riley idly tugged on the cuff of her green sweater and let herself daydream about what could be considered nothingness. Catching sight of the lazy snow flurries drift to the ground in the fading light, she felt a small smile play across her lips. She had always liked winter the best. Though fall brought a cascade of different colors, though spring was followed by a parade of showers and flowers, though summer held the greatest escape from the norm, winter offered something the others could not. It wasn’t just the holidays or the snow ball fights, there was just something so serenely memorizing about it. The way the snowflakes either effortlessly drifted downwards for the first time or hectically thundered down in a series of swirls and dances as it got deeper into the season. Even after a triumphant landing Riley would just stand on her front porch and watch the sun bounce off the white blanket and-

“Miss?” Riley tore her eyes away from the window and to the middle aged man in front of her and smiled her apologies. “Can I have a gingerbread cappuccino, please?”

She nodded smiled slightly as she slid out of her seat and headed towards the cappuccino maker. As she made the holiday special Riley pushed a lock of deep-chocolate colored hair behind her shoulder out of impatience as the machine jammed up for a second or two. Once the froth finally reached the top of the shop’s personalized cup and she snapped a lid on, she went back to the cash register and punched in the keys for his order. She opened her mouth to tell him the price of the steaming styrofoam cup in front of them when he cut her off.

“2.50,” he said, “I know,” he added with a warm smile as he opened up his wallet in search of the two dollars and change. As he did so she noticed he had pictures in his worn wallet. She pushed her bangs off her face, although they just bounced back like they always did, and didn’t bother to check her mind from wandering. She wondered if the two boys looked more like the man in front of her or their mother. She wondered if her carried the pictures because he truly loved to see their faces or just because he could. She wondered if they were only there because they served as a good conversation starter.

‘how’s things going?’

‘good, good, here look; this is my son, he’s already into baseball’

‘how old is he these days?’

‘three’

‘he’s gonna be a pro’

‘so how’s your daughter?’

‘oh, she’s great, Mary keeps trying to teach her how to cook and she‘s only five, makes a mess everywhere…’

“Miss?”

Riley looked back up and saw the man holding three new, crisp dollar bills out to her.

She smiled her apologies, depositing it into the register and handing him the receipt along with his change. She was going to remind him to travel safe along with the usual ‘thanks, come again’ but he beat her to it.

“Enjoy the snow,” He said, giving her a polite nod and headed back out the way he came.

She waited for the door bell to chime after his departure before picking her napkin up from its hiding spot. Although her usual ramblings only consisted of silly things like the way an old lady came in at five o clock every Tuesday and Thursday just to order the same thing and to sit in the same chair, or how some off the different or how some of the different labeled coffee beans on the wall behind her looked exactly the same; she didn’t feel like people needed or wanted to read them. To her, they were just there. Nothing special, nothing unique, so in theory, they were nothing anybody needed to read. So, she kept them to herself without a hint of greed.

Her mind wandered home, up in in her small room, underneath her twin bed, with a clean trail amidst the dust she had an old shoe box. Before this box had contained her favorite shoes when she was little, but now it contained several pieces or writing like one in her hand. Riley pictured the worn cardboard box, tucked neatly between her grandfather’s old baseball mitt and photo albums that too many hands had flipped through, as she gingerly folded up the wispy paper and slid it into the pocket of her jeans. She smiled faintly, knowing she had something else to tuck away in her corner of the world.

She looked around the empty Clarke’s Corner Coffeehouse before checking her watch and smiled at the face on her right wrist; she only had a short ten minutes before she could head home. She pulled out a rag from underneath the counter, slid out from behind the counter and started to clean off the table tops.

She moved from one table to another, idly humming to herself, sweeping up dust and picking up scraps of paper. At the last table, tucked away in the back corner, she found a piece of yellow flyer paper crumpled up into a small ball on the floor next to a leg of the chair. Picking it up she saw a bold declaration in big black letters, distorted in the folds of the paper. Without a thought Riley carried it over to the trash bin along with the straw wrappers, previously discarded on table tops, but a last minute bout of curiosity stopped her from tossing it with the rest. Still humming she pulled on the paper at all angles until it usual shape was recognizable.

Riley scowled at the paper as she skipped the rest. Somehow she was expecting more which was almost ludicrous. This time of year there were always flyers of contests. Drawing contests. Poem contests. Pie contests. Writing contests. Singing contests. Snowman contests. Decoration contests. And most infamous among parents-snowball fighting contests.

With a sigh she folded the crinkled paper but instead of pushing it into the bin, her hand seemed to disregard her directions and instead tucked it into her pocket to keep the napkin company. She rolled her eyes to herself as she went to gather her things from the back, smiling slightly to the blonde girl who followed the sound of the bell as she came in to take over.

Stepping out into the dark street Riley sighed underneath the green awning, pulling her jacket tighter around her. Giving an involuntary shiver as she stepped out into the unforgiving weather that decided to take a turn for the worst. She walked along the empty streets, the last of the shoppers taking shelter in warm stores, with her arms folded across her chest and bent over against the harsh wind. As she reached the last of the shops in the small town, the dark haired girl caught her reflection in a dark window. Clear green eyes stared back at her next to a yellow flyer posted up from the inside. With the snow plowing down against her head and shoulders, she watched as the girl in the window gave her a resounding smile.

For the rest of the short distance home, Riley’s stride lengthened in steady steps despite the impending weather.

After kicking off her snow covered shoes as she locked the door behind her, and throwing her jacket over the clattering radiator to dry, Riley padded through the entrance way towards the kitchen. As she made her way to the back of the house she heard the comforting sounds of the timeless holiday movie A Christmas Story along with the laughter of her two younger brothers. She paused in the doorway for a moment, smiling while Kyle and Scott howled, as the father happily cried ‘fragile… it must be Italian!’ before continuing on her set path.

Reaching the kitchen she saw her cold dinner waiting for her on the counter along with a note from her mom that was scattered with x’s and o’s. Instead of heating up the leftover meal she took the back stairs up two at a time. She slide into her room and slinked down to the floor at the edge of her bed. With a deep breath she pulled up the quilt and pulled out the familiar cardboard box out from it’s dusty residence. Tracing the outline of the red cowboy boots with one hand, the other traveled into her pocket and pulled out the tattered napkin and creased yellow paper. From downstairs she heard Kyle and Scott ignore the antics on the television to stampede towards the loving welcome that just stepped through the door. But instead of going to greet her mom, Riley let her legs sprawl out in front of her as her fingers traced the red figure.

“Ri’?” her mom called from the kitchen, with a hint of concern and using her nickname for her only daughter, “You ok?”

“Yeah, ma’,” she shouted back. “I’m alright…”she added more to herself than anyone else.

The next day, at precisely 7:13 in the morning, two young boys rushed outside into the gleaming sunshine, scarves and jackets trailing behind in the white powder. Excited to be the first outside they disregarded the usual winter preparation that their mother was now shouting from the doorway. So with reluctance and a roll of the eyes, they halted their antics long enough to properly put on their jackets and tie up their boot laces. That’s when they noticed the lone trail headed towards the mailbox at the curb. That’s when they realized that they were not-infact-the first to leave their imprint on the world that glistening morning.

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You can try and stand out in the fresh snow all day, all week, all winter. But eventually the snow will melt and you’ll be left with a raw patch of grass. You’ll realize you’ve missed the lopsided, goofy snowmen, the jovial antics of the first rambunctious children to run out into the snow, and the chance to catch snowflakes on you’re tongue. You can stand and watch it melt away but isn’t that worse than watching it turn to slush?

so ya like? please legitely make my day and leave me a review.