I am wandering amongst the white winter wonderland

Our desolate kingdom, crowned in green, then red and gold as time passed,

Our kingdom, in all its glory, would have visitors but it was really, ours.

We explored far and wide, climbing, wading, running, and laughing.

But now, it was… Dead? Sleeping? Who knows?

I was on a riverbank, face red in the cold, and I stared at the branches as they pierced the austere, gray, sky that seemed drained, of its blue color, just a husk of former beauty, and memories.

She was on one side of the bank, and I was on the other, the one that would prove to be

the


wrong



side.

I need to get back, back to safety, the gray, austere sky is growing dim. My eyes alight on a branch. It is a miracle branch, and a bridge, in my 9 year old eyes.

I start to slowly, meticulously, cross it.

I’m scared, but my friend’s yells of encouragement spur me on and I walk, until- Plop!

I hear something fall into the water. My mitten! My rainbow, hand-knitted mitten, is in the water, and I reach out, slowly, and grab the mitten. A final remark, supposed to make me more cautious from the mouth of my friend distracts me, and I fall in- Sploosh! Right into the belly of the beast, the frigid,

black,

menacing

water. I grab my mitten and flail my way to the top, waterlogged, weighed down by heavy clothes, and punch through the thin ice, and break the surface. I am terrified.

But I make it!

To my friend!

She is scared, she reaches out her hand, and I take it.



We walk home that day, shivering, feeling terrified, exhilarated, and pumped full of adrenalin, yet victorious!

We stared fear in its ugly face, at it’s worst, and conquered it with friendship.

But, none of us knew, not then,

In a year I would have to leave, leave the pond, leave the branch, and leave my friend.

And there would be no more adventures.

We would grow up, mature.

I wouldn’t come back as often,

But when I would come back, and we would go to that pond, in the winter,

We would remember

And smile.