I leave the house and walk down the road aimlessly. I don’t have a route in mind, but allow my feet to lead me instead. Without putting much thought into it, I wander down a familiar road and easily loop through the neighborhood as the wind leads me. I meander, staring at the gray sky and listening to the distant chirp of birds. A train passes behind the neighborhood, wheels churning and shuddering in the quiet.
It is cold out, but I didn’t bother to bring a coat; I never do. The chill of the air nips at my cheeks, nose, and fingertips. I curl my fingers into my palm before stretching them out to regain some form of warmth. Despite the cold, I don’t shiver or quicken my pace. There was a comfort I could always find in the numbing sensation of the winter.
The streets are as quiet as ever; families and children seeking solace in the warmth of their homes after a long day at work or school. I bask in the ever so rare stillness of my world. For once the constant movement and whirring of my life seem to pause. I contemplate if the winter had frozen it in place for me.
I find myself back to the familiar house I had started at. My pace lulls as I consider returning to the coziness of my grandmother’s house before I decide to keep walking. Finding myself on a different yet known path, I stare up at the ever-knowing sky. It stares back at me with gray clouds and the threat of incoming snow. A small smile burns my cheeks and chapped lips, but it is happy nonetheless. The wind continues to push me forward, telling me to follow its lead, and I do so without question.