Bekka's Snow Dreams.

Photo Credit: http://lovelylaurak.tumblr.com/

She looked up suddenly as a cry cut through the darkness, as the night air drifted again into silence, and commented dryly "Oh Gregory, you will never cease to amaze me.." returning to her occupation, which was none other than hugging her knees tight as she dreamt, sitting on the old Glennnook dock over the water. The night, the gloominess, enveloped her like a coat, a warm, furry coat. The night, it was her friend and her constant companion. It whispered to her in dark tones, and smiled at her, a smile be-jeweled with glimmering stars. It brought to her crystal, vibrant dreams, like a people's gift unto their beloved princess.

And these gifts, she took-- or drank rather, as they filled her whole being and refreshed her soul.

She gazed solemnly into the black water as her mind drifted to the letter she had gotten that morning, just another one of Gloria's happy, senseless letters.

"Do you ever feel like you're questing for a star? A star you can't define, you can't even be sure it's there- but you know you want it? Sometimes I think it's in side-splitting, loud, glorious laughter, and sometimes I think it's in the flavor of the cinnamon spice cakes my aunt Jamie makes, and other times I think I catch a glimpse of it in the sun dawning through the trees. I'm always very sure I've found it during such moments. But as soon as they're over I'm just as sure that the star has never been mine and never will be.

Have you found a star, Bekka? I'm almost sure you have. Your peachy-cream, dandy sort of a life could only grow out of a soul that owned this indescribable something.

But you see, I'm talking nonsense- as always. You must come and visit me this Fall, I'm dying to see you, actually 'speak' with you, and just look at you. Perhaps you can do something to straighten out this mess of a mind I have, you sweet, methodical thing! "

Methodical! As if she had life figured out... Gloria was always making silly comments about things. Yet, there was a sense of kinship she felt with Gloria, in her heart. This heart of hers that no one, perhaps, no one saw. No- not even Gloria. She sighed and dropped her head on her knees with a feeling of dissatisfaction. She felt muddled and deeply happy all at once. Was she, too, searching for a star, like Gloria? Yet, how could she, how could she be missing anything with this glorious, grand, sparkling world around her?

Her hand dropped to scoop up some of the fluffy, scintillating stuff at her side. The snow here was always so sparkling, she wondered what life would be like without snow. The snow in her world never ceased, had never ceased for as long as she could remember. She had never known a Summer. She supposed it was odd, but she liked it that way. Of course, she didn't always SEE the snow.. There were times when her soul felt caged up in an overwhelming sense of dread and worry- for what, she knew not. But for something, and at those times, so taken up was she, that snow had no place in her sight, in her thoughts. And oddly, she never even saw it at those times. Yet it was always there- cold and beautiful. She pressed the handful of snow against her cheek. Oh, it was good, it was so very good. Was she unhappy? No. Had she ever really been unhappy? At this moment she felt sure that she never had. She couldn't have, of course. Not with such a life as this, where snow floated gently down around and upon one in that sweet, caressing way..

The moon was rising high in the hazy blackness above her and she realized that it was truly becoming rather late, and in all probability now was a good time to go home. If one could call what she had to go back to home! She stood up and started her rambling way back through the snow, down the beach (a beach lost in snow where ocean waves lapped only in the light), along the fields which she almost loved most of all. Fields of strawberries and blue-berries and all kinds of berries and then just open fields upon which nothing grew at all. You must not think it strange for crops to grow underneath a foot of snow, because she certainly never gave it half a thought.

She came up to one long, open field, acres upon acres, and there she broke right into a run- and ran and ran, the snow swished about by her trailing skirt, her cheeks grew warm and blushing but her eyes sparkled because she loved it. Encumbrances she may have in life-and many. But she was free, she was free to run across a wide open field in the dark of night (Which really wasn't that dark while the moon enlightened the world of snow) by herself, herself only. Sometimes this alone-ness felt like a curse, and sometimes it was the joy of her existence. She reached the middle of the field and threw herself down upon the snow in exhaustion-glorious exhaustion. Her body stretched out on the snow, like one making a snow angel. Her fingertips dug into the snow, she turned her face and felt the snow against her cheek. Her hat fell off and snow mingled with her hair. And then she hummed, she hummed and thought and renewed daydreams, and once she felt fully recovered in spirit and body and anything else one could be recovered in, she proceeded on her walk. A little less dignified, but who cares for that kind of dignity?